


Something Old Book III: Link

by Ducks



Series: Something Old [3]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Het, Multi, Romance, Schmoop, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-23
Updated: 2009-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 76,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ducks/pseuds/Ducks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Riley has a new girlfriend.  You can probably guess who it is.  Problem is, she's not the problem.  Buffy and Angel discover there is more to their bond than they first realized, and it's not necessarily a good thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gotta Have Faith.

**Author's Note:**

> First posted 03/11/2001

Angel pushed Buffy roughly against the wall, devouring the flesh of her neck with his mouth, while he lifted both her body and her long skirt up. Her feet came off the ground and wrapped around him, grinding their pelvises together with a hot, sweet friction. His hands wandered up her legs, over her thighs and hips, and he was thrilled to find when he reached his goal, that she wasn't wearing any underwear.

Fumbling to push all of the flowing folds of her velvet skirt out of his way, he said huskily, "How come you never wear those really short skirts anymore?"

Feverish from his hands and lips on her, and their dangerously provocative position against the alley wall, she panted, "Huh? What?"

Angel fumbled with his belt buckle, as Buffy clung to his neck and waist like a monkey.

"When we first met, you used to wear these dresses that you couldn't, in all fairness, call dresses at all," he panted, finally getting the buckle undone and making quick work of the fly, pulling his pants down enough to set his erection free. It sprang out of his slacks, and he rubbed it against the junction of Buffy's thighs, "They were more like shirts..."

"Uhhh..." Buffy moaned, "Is this really the time for fashion talk?"

He licked her neck, still rubbing himself against her," I want to know..." he whispered.

"You mean micro-minis?" she asked, gasping.

Angel kissed her and pulled her down onto him with a fierce grunt.

"Yeah," he said, "They... oh, god... easier access... uhhh..."

Buffy wrapped herself tightly around him, moving her hips to meet his, trying to ignore the brick grinding into her butt.

"OH! I don't know..." she moaned as he thrust deep inside her.

//What the hell is he talking about?//

Her thoughts were soon interrupted by his cool hands crushing the flesh of her rear, taking the brunt of the scraping from the wall. He pulled her down, harder, and moved up into her, faster.

"Oh, Angel, yes!" she cried softly, muffling her voice by burying her face in his shoulder.

Angel pushed her harder against the wall for better balance. He loved taking her like this, in public, where anyone could just round the corner at any moment and witness their furious coupling. He felt himself throb at the thought of getting caught, and the final moments of their union quickly rushed toward them.

Buffy forced his mouth to hers as she came, pounding against him with her hips, bucking fiercely as she bit his lip to stifle her cries. Angel tasted his own blood in his mouth, and lost all control as he climaxed, plunging deeply into her. He thrust so hard, he completely lost his balance, and they fell, still connected, into a nearby pile of cardboard.

He lay on top of her for a moment, getting his bearings and catching his breath, until he felt Buffy start to shudder and hitch beneath him as she came again. He held her while her frenzied quaking eased, then looked into her eyes and smiled.

She panted at him for a moment, then burst into laughter. Angel soon joined her, and struggled to get up, reaching out a hand to help her dislodge the garbage from her sweater. They dressed and laughed together, helping one another get more or less straightened up, tucked in, and de-wrinkled. Buffy patted down her hair. They gave each other a final once-over, which only ended up in another fit of hysterical laughter as they realized it just wasn't going to work.

Buffy grabbed Angel's arm, and pulled him toward the front entrance of the Bronze.

"Who are we trying to kid? We're trashed..." she lamented happily.

"Literally," he chuckled.

She looked up at him and smiled sweetly, "Besides, I like the tousled look on you," she said, holding on to his arm while he paid the cover, and the bouncer let them inside.

"Thanks," Angel replied, smiling down at her, then immediately winced as they stepped into the din, "Are you sure you don't want to go somewhere else? I mean... aren't you getting a little old for this place? It's mostly for younger kids, isn't it?"

Buffy saw that her favorite table was occupied by a bunch of high school kids, and she angrily dragged Angel through the crowd to approach them. She stood next to the table giving them a look that clearly said to get lost. The four teens immediately recognized Buffy Summers, and all it took was a little wave from her to send them scuttling for a new place to sit.

Angel watched the kids scatter, whether in respect or fear, he didn't know, and sat in one of the chairs she'd just procured for them by her bullying. He chuckled.

"You just want me to go to one of those old fart bars where the fat, cigar-smoking old-timers sit around and bitch about how lousy things are and lament the long-lost 'old days' with you," she accused him, "No way... They're like nursing homes with beer and Irish music."

"It's called a pub, Buffy. I would have thought as you got older, you'd be more interested in good conversation than..." he winced as the "music" seemed to get louder, "Noise."

"I'm not even 21 yet," she told him, "And just because I'm getting older, doesn't mean I'm turning into you."

"Yeah, well, you try partying every night for a couple of centuries, and see how much you enjoy clubs," he replied.

Buffy gave him a look.

"Touché," he relented, and kissed her softly. After a moment, he pulled away to look at her. "Do you really think I'm an old fart?"

"You do okay. I don't think you need to get in the Viagra line just yet," she assured him, and resumed their kissing.

"Hey! None of that in here, you two! This is a family establishment!"

Angel and Buffy looked up at Willow and Tara as they joined them at the table.

"Hey, guys..." Buffy greeted them.

Angel smiled and watched the two women. Their body language was intimate, warm, and familiar, and he found it hard to believe that they now kept their relationship strictly platonic. But Willow insisted they did, until she could make up her mind which of her two loves she wanted to be with.

"Who's playing?" Tara asked, nodding up to the still-empty stage.

"Me'Shell D'an-I-Can't-Pronounce-Her-Last-Name," Willow told her.

"Ne-DEG-ee-oh-CHEL-lo," Angel helped. "It's West African."

Willow practiced the difficult name under her breath.

"Ooh!" Buffy chirped enthusiastically, "Electric blues! Yay!"

Angel stared at her, smiling, a little taken aback. Was she really paying attention to his lectures about musical styles, or did she just soak things up by accident? Usually, Buffy's knowledge of music extended to "good" or "bad", period. Most of what he listened to qualified as "bad". Of course, she liked what was currently playing, and he was tempted to categorize it as "bad" as well. He watched the small band arrange themselves on stage, and silently prayed they'd be quick about it, and put him out of the misery the pounding dance beat put him in.

"Come on, let's dance!" Buffy said, giving Angel a tug on the sleeve.

He looked at her.

"Oh, don't give me that 'I don't dance' crap. I happen to know for a fact that you've got rhythm," she pressed herself against him, making her implication hard to miss. Angel could still smell their earlier fun on her.

"That's different," he explained.

Buffy leaned closer and whispered in his ear, "How, exactly?" She ended her question by lightly dragging her tongue around the outside of the lobe.

Angel shivered in spite of himself. Buffy really didn't have to try hard to turn him on. He felt like he was in a constant state of arousal, whenever he was around her. "Believe me, you wouldn't be quite so... amorous... if you saw me dance."

"Don't you two ever stop?" Willow teased.

Buffy turned and shot her best friend a look, then resumed trying to persuade Angel to dance by sucking on his earlobe.

He looked at Willow and Tara and grinned, "No. Never," he answered cheerfully.

They laughed.

The jukebox suddenly cut out, leaving nothing but the low hum of human chatter in the club's air.

"Thank god," Angel moaned. His ears were ringing.

The band began to play a slow blues-rock ballad, and Buffy stopped her attentions to look up at the stage and listen. Then she turned to look into his eyes, and smiled broadly.

"Okay," he relented, "This, I'll dance to."

"Yay!" Buffy exclaimed.

As the Slayer took her vampire's hand and led him away, Angel gave Willow and Tara a sheepish grin.

"They're so cute," Tara said admiringly, watching the beautiful pair take one another in their arms, and gaze into each other's eyes.

"Yup. They don't' get much cuter than Buffy and Angel," Willow agreed.

Buffy leaned into Angel's strong embrace, deeply inhaling his cool, clean scent. She could think of no other place on Earth she'd rather be.

Angel smiled and held her closer. It seemed that every time he danced with Buffy, something magickal happened inside him. Feeling her heart beat against his chest, and her warmth flow over him like a blanket, he almost felt alive again... almost normal, like Anyman blessed by the extraordinary love of an incredible woman.

Though it was true he couldn't dance to the noise that passed as music these days, the real truth was that he just didn't feel music unless she was in his arms. He swung Buffy around and dipped her gently, eliciting a giggle from her, and strange looks from their fellow dancers.

"Can't say I've ever been faithful  
Except to God.   
Never thought I could call anyplace home   
Until I fell asleep here, in your arms.

'Cause I never thought I'd fall in love.

Your love's my only saving grace   
You caress my heart, kiss my face   
Your love's my only saving grace   
Your love...

Sometimes God calls out to me to come home   
'Cause I feel so all alone.   
Then I taste your kiss, your touch...   
Your sweet love

'Cause I never thought I'd fall in love   
With you.

Your love's my only saving grace   
You caress my heart, kiss my face   
Your love's my only saving grace   
Your love..."

Tara felt a little pang in her heart as she watched the obviously lovestruck couple move, staring into one another's eyes and exchanging soft, secret smiles.

She wished she could hold Willow like that. It killed her to think they had almost gotten to that point... where they were comfortable being together in public... comfortable sharing physical affection in general. But then Oz had returned, and with him, Angelus, and any chance for happiness between her and Willow went straight out the window.

The song ended, and Buffy and Angel punctuated their dance the same way they always did, with a long, deep, slow kiss.

Angel sighed happily as they parted, and Buffy led him by the hand back to the table.

"I'm going for a drink. Anybody want?" she asked.

"No, thanks," Tara replied.

"'Shirley Temple', please," Willow said.

The three others gave her a look.

"What? I like maraschino cherries!" she said in her own defense.

"They have formaldehyde derivatives in them, you know," Angel informed her helpfully.

"Please, don't ever tell us how you know that," Buffy said, rolling her eyes at him, "Do you want anything?"

"Nothing I can get at the bar," he grinned at her, "But I'll take some coffee anyway."

Buffy gave him a mock-glare, then held her hand out, palm up.

He looked at it for a moment, unsure of her intent.

"Oh! Right... starving college student," he quipped, and pulled a ten out of his wallet, dangling it just out of her reach.

"What do we say?" he teased.

"We say 'Give the money to the thirsty Slayer now, or we'll soon fit neatly in yonder ashtray,'" she nodded to the one on the table.

Angel leaned closer, "Empty threat," he said, kissing the tip of her nose.

Buffy continued glaring, "Oh, you think so..."

He finally relinquished the bill, and Buffy kissed him lightly before turning and disappearing into the crowd.

Willow leaned toward him, "Is there really formaldehyde in maraschino cherries?"

************************************

Riley really wasn't much for clubs. In fact, they made him downright uncomfortable. He preferred peace and quiet, most of the time -- respite from what he usually did at night. And when he did like to get a little loud, he would rather do it in the company of friends, not a roomful of barely drinking- age strangers.

But, alas, he was a gentleman, and his date liked loud, crowded places. Thus, their presence at the Bronze, and his struggle to swim against the current of the throngs to get to the bar and buy her a drink.

He liked her. A lot. She was sweet and giving, smart, and full of a particular joie de vivre that he could never resist. The same sort of quality that attracted him to Buffy.

Five months later, he was still sore about it... how she had dismissed him so easily and casually because some freak twist of fate threw her into the arms of her ex-boyfriend. From what he had gleaned (which was very little) about Buffy's relationship with Angel (what kind of name was 'Angel', anyway?), things had rarely been good, and never easy, between them. What did Mr. Fancy LA Guy have that he didn't?

He shook the thought out of his head. Waste of energy. Buffy made her choice... and besides, now he had...

Violent contact with another of the bar's patrons stilled his thoughts as he stumbled, struggling to regain his balance while he looked down to say 'excuse me'.

And found himself looking right into Buffy's perfect hazel eyes.

"Buffy..." he said. This was too much of a coincidence.

Buffy shifted awkwardly, "Riley. Hi."

"How are you?" he asked, finding himself unexpectedly breathless at the sight of her. She looked like she'd gained a little weight, which looked fantastic on her, making her already generous curves all the more enticing, especially enhanced as they were by her soft, black velvet dress.

He'd forgotten what a stunning woman she was. Her face seemed brighter, her hair shinier, and even her demeanor seemed... lighter, somehow. Happier. He'd never seen her looking so alive.

"I'm good," she said, struggling to be polite, when what she really wanted to do was run. Or throw up. Or, possibly, both, "You?"

"Fine. Great, actually. It's... good to see you again, Buffy."

She nodded. She still felt kind of bad for blowing Riley off the way she did -- he was such a nice guy. But there really wasn't much to say to him anymore, and that made this moment even more awkward. Buffy hated small talk.

"Were you going to the bar?" he asked, nodding toward it.

"Yeah... drinks," she said, gesturing with the ten Angel had given her.

"Come on. I'll walk with you, and we can catch up," he offered.

Buffy shrugged and followed him. His size was imposing, and the crowd parted easily before him like the Red Sea before Moses. Handy for getting quickly to the bar, and then quickly away.

************************************

"Excuse me, guys... restroom," Willow said, giving a sheepish grin and walking away, leaving Tara and Angel alone at the table.

"S-so, um, Angel... Wh-what's it like for you to be in a p-place like this?" she asked shyly.

Angel looked at her, uncertain what she meant.

"I've been... r-reading," she explained, "About v-vampires. The books s-say you're really, um... sensitive... I mean, sensory-wise. Predatory senses. Is it... uncomfortable? I mean, with all these people?"

Angel gave her a smile, "You get used to it. I've spent a lot of time in places like this over the years. You learn to tune things out."

"Oh," Tara replied, "I was wondering, 'cause... you know... I'm sensitive, too. Like, in a psychic way. B-being in crowds makes me n-nervous."

"I can imagine. A lot of energies in here, with all of these people," he replied compassionately.

Tara nodded.

"If it's so uncomfortable, why do you come?" he asked, leaning closer to her. He liked Tara. Enjoyed her uniquely calming aura and her sweet, genuine way. He admired her devotion to Willow, and felt somewhat indebted to her for risking her life to save him, when she barely knew him at all.

"W-willow likes it here," Tara replied, looking off at the spot where the redhead had disappeared, "She feels safe here, with these people. It's familiar and c-comfortable."

Angel nodded, "I think Buffy feels the same. I keep trying to convince her to go somewhere more quiet, but..."

Tara grinned, "Old h-habits die hard."

"They sure do," Angel agreed.

************************************

"So, UCLA, huh? Impressive," Riley said as they waited for their orders.

"Yeah, I can hardly believe I got in," Buffy replied, "I'm not exactly known for my sterling intellect."

Riley frowned at her self-deprecation. "Don't sell yourself short, Buffy. You're a smart woman."

Buffy blinked at the unexpected compliment, and looked into his kind blue eyes. She wondered, for a split second, what might have developed between them if Willow's spell to have her will done hadn't gone all wacky.

But only for a split second, because what she'd gotten instead was so much better. She smiled as Angel's face came into her mind.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, "I gotta say, I'm kind of surprised that you're being so nice to me, considering..." she cast her eyes to the floor.

"Water under the bridge, Buffy," he assured her, "You did what you had to do -- you followed your heart. I didn't like it, of course, but I can't fault you for being honest."

She looked up at him again, and smiled.

"Besides," Riley went on, "I've moved on. I'm dating someone now, too."

"Really? Oh, Riley, I'm so glad," Buffy said, and she meant it. The idea of anyone being lonely because of her made her unimaginably sad, especially considering how not lonely she was.

"Yeah, me too," he said, smiling broadly, "She's really amazing. You'd like her."

"I'm sure," Buffy agreed.

Their drinks arrived, and Buffy got ready to say her good-byes and head back to her life.

"Speaking of the devil..." Riley said, looking over Buffy's shoulder.

"Look at you! I leave you alone for five minutes, and you're already picking up other chicks," said the newcomer brightly.

The voice sent immediate chills up Buffy's spine, and she spun to look at Riley's new girlfriend. Her heart came to a lurching, choking stop.

"Hey, you," Riley said, taking the dark-haired woman tenderly in his arms and kissing her with a warm familiarity. Then he looked at Buffy again, "Buffy, I'd like you to meet Faith. Faith? This is Buffy."

The two Slayers stared at one another in shock.

************************************

"And... I guess that's the way things stand, now. My soul is bound, and tied to hers, so there's no danger of anything like that happening again," Angel concluded.

"Wow," Tara commented, "That must be really scary... to have something like that inside of you? It must be a relief to have it gone, finally."

Angel looked at her seriously, "It's not gone. Just... integrated and bound. The demon's dormant, but the urges are still there. I'm just not constantly struggling for control of my body with another being. And yes, that is a relief."

"The good and evil is all... one, now? I mean... b-balanced, I guess..."

He nodded, "That's the gist of it. I'm not sure what all of the ramifications are, yet, but... so far, so good," he punctuated his words with a broad smile.

//Wow, he's cute...//

"Hey, you two! Miss me?" Willow chirped as she reclaimed the seat beside Tara, "Man, it's crowded in here tonight. Did I miss anything good?"

"We were talking about Angel's soul... the binding and stuff," Tara explained.

Willow leaned enthusiastically over the table, "Ooh! Soul magick talk? My favorite!"

Angel grimaced a little. It wasn't his favorite.

Buffy suddenly appeared, looking confused and upset.

"Come on. We have to go," she said tersely, standing behind Angel and trying not to look at the bar.

Angel was almost relieved, until he scented the fear around her.

"Buffy, what's wrong?" he asked softly.

"Can we just... go? Please?" she asked, her voice tinged with panic.

"Of course," he replied, and got up.

"What's going on?" Willow asked fearfully.

Buffy shook her head. "Outside."

The foursome quickly exited the crowded bar. Once they were out in the quiet night, Buffy practically ran down the alley, forcing Tara and Willow to jog. Angel easily kept up with her, as used to her stride as he was, but his worry increased with every step.

Finally, he reached out and stopped her.

"Buffy, tell me what's going on," he demanded, "What happened in there? And where are you going in such a hurry?"

Buffy reluctantly stopped and looked at each of them.

"I ran into Riley. And he's got a new girlfriend," she replied angrily.

Willow and Tara frowned, confused. Angel positively scowled.

"So?" he asked shortly, still not understanding her reaction. He never thought Buffy cared that much about the guy to begin with. Hadn't she said they'd only gone out a couple of times?

"Oh, Buffy..." Willow interjected, "That must have been weird."

"Weird?" Buffy snorted, "Yeah. It would have been just weird, if it had only been Riley. Or Riley and some strange person. But this was bad... Like bad, evil bad."

"Okay. Enough with the hyperbole, Buffy. What are you talking about?" Angel snapped, his jealousy getting the best of him.

Buffy spun on him, "Seems Riley has interesting taste in women," she snapped back, "Guess who's back among the conscious and dipping her toes into the deep blue sea of college men?"

"Who?" Tara asked.

Buffy looked Angel square in the eye.

"Faith," she said flatly, "Riley's new girlfriend is Faith."


	2. No Buts, Buffy

"This concerns me a great deal," Wesley said, setting down his magnifying glass.

Cordelia tore her lips away from Doyle's and looked at him.

"Huh?" she huffed breathlessly, "What does?"

"The two of you! Constantly pawing at one another! We do have work that needs completing, you know! And last I checked, both of you were still on the payroll!" he snapped, "And besides, it's nauseating."

"Not one for PDA's, huh Wes?" Doyle teased. He loved nothing more than getting the stuffy Brit all worked up with jealousy, or with anything else, for that matter.

"Sor-ry," Cordelia retorted, and returned to her post behind the computer. Doyle pouted a little, but let her go.

"This is a business, not a brothel," Wesley added, reclaiming his magnifying glass and resuming his inspection of the scroll on the table before him.

"A brothel is a business, actually." Doyle informed him, plopping down in one of the nearby chairs.

"And I'm not a hooker," Cordelia insisted, "Thank you very much."

"Be that as it MAY," Wesley snapped, "This is not the appropriate forum for such behavior! I'm certain both of you have homes, do you not? Private homes? I believe a certain amount of decorum is to be expected at one's place of business, don't you?"

He went on, but Cordelia was too busy trying not to laugh at the mocking imitation of Wesley Doyle was performing behind his back.

Wesley noticed her stifled giggle, and spun to see Doyle looking casually around the room, whistling.

"That is IT!" Wesley barked, standing up and gathering his research materials, "The two of you may be more concerned with copulating than with the fate of humankind, but I, for one, have a JOB to perform, for which I am being paid. And as long as demons roam the Earth, it is my sworn duty to fight them, to the exclusion of all else!"

"You're just jealous 'cause you don't have a honey," Cordy mumbled under her breath.

Wesley ignored her and marched angrily away, down the stairs to the quiet sanctuary of Angel's apartment. When he was gone, Doyle and Cordelia immediately burst into a fit of giggles. The half-demon got up and stood behind his lover, leaning down to whisper in her ear.

"Whatdya say to a lunch break, then? At least we'll be off the clock."

She grinned evilly up at him, "Right. Because we don't get 'paid to copulate'", she mocked in her best Wesley voice.

Doyle kissed her cheek. "You are a true blue bitch, my princess," he told her.

Cordelia got up and put on her sweater, "Years of practice, my dear, years of practice."

"We're going to lunch!" she yelled as they headed for the door, "Beep us if the Fate of Humanity is at stake!"

"Fine, yes, lunch!" Wesley called back, "We'll see you tomorrow, then!"

Doyle and Cordy laughed as the door clicked shut behind them.

***********************

"Buffy, we don't know that Faith means any harm," Angel reminded her.

She shot him a withering look, "Are you kidding? Have you forgotten last year? Evil, soul-stealing magick? Giant snake? Kidnapped Willow? Poisoned arrow? Murdered deputy mayor and college professor? Faith is all about harm!" she shouted.

"You can't know how much I hate saying this," Xander cut in, "But maybe Dead Boy's got a point. Maybe she's changed."

Now it was Willow's turn to glare, "You don't go into a coma all psycho-evil, and come out 'Anne of Green Gables', Xander!"

Giles sighed. "Buffy, how did she react when she saw you? What did she say?"

Buffy sighed, as well. She wished they could, just once, spend less time debating the evil, and more time getting rid of it.

"She looked surprised, not surprisingly," she told him, "She pretended not to know me. She was very nice. Polite. Evil."

"We don't know that," Angel repeated.

"Why are you defending her?" Buffy barked at him, "What the hell do you care what her motivations are? She's evil! We should be out stopping her, not debating whether or not her coma helped her see the error of her ways! She could be out there right now, planning on how she's going to slowly torture and murder us all!"

"Buffy, calm down," Giles interjected, "Getting hysterical won't help, either. Please, let us not forget, that Faith is alone, now, whatever the state of her…" his gaze flicked to Angel, "Soul. She no longer has the power of the Mayor behind her."

"No, but she's a Slayer! Isn't that bad enough?" Willow added angrily.

"My question is, does Riley know about Faith's past, and if so, what are his motivations for being with her?" Angel mused aloud.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him, "Oh, you're kidding," she snorted, "That just figures."

Angel gave her a nasty look, but didn't respond.

She looked around at all of her friends. at her lover... at the man who might as well be her father... What was wrong with all of them?

"This is stupid!" Buffy snapped, "I'm going home!"

She got up and stomped toward the door, but paused, spinning around once more to glare at her friends.

"If any of you decide to do something about this, I'll be in my room!" She shouted, and slammed the door behind her as she left. The others sat, staring.

"Irrationally jealous much?" Anya said, sounding so much like Cordelia, Xander had to give her a look.

Willow got up and nodded toward the door, "I'd better..."

"Yeah," Tara agreed, "You should go after her. I'll get home okay."

Willow frowned. "You shouldn't walk alone at night."

"I'll drive her, when we're through here," Angel assured her. He felt bad that he wasn't going after Buffy, but considering the fact that half of what was wrong with her was about him-- Again--iIt might be a better idea for her best friend to help.

The Witch smiled at him gratefully, "Thanks, Angel," she said, gave Tara a brief touch to her hair, and left.

"I thought you guys got beyond that whole Faith deal," Xander said to Angel.

He looked toward the door that Buffy had so recently slammed in anger.

"So did I," he said.

********************

Willow could hear Buffy crying before she even opened the door. When she did, she found her best friend curled up on the bed, clutching her pillow and sobbing loudly. Willow sat beside her and gently stroked her back.

"It's not fair!" Buffy wailed, "She always ruins everything!"

Even Willow was starting to think that Buffy was over-reacting. She was also starting to think that Buffy's upset had less to do with possible danger from Faith, and more to do with Angel.

"Oh, Buffy... I don't think this is anything to get this upset over. Whatever Faith has in mind, we can handle it."

Buffy turned her red, swollen eyes to her best friend.

"Did you hear him? Defending her, like she was some helpless waif??? No, no feelings there!" she cried sarcastically.

"Well... I mean... I see what you mean, but Buffy... this is Angel, we're talking about, here. He's just trying to be rational."

"RATIONAL! Right! And that crack about Riley was rational, too!" she complained.

Willow sighed, "Do you really still believe that Angel has feelings for Faith? REALLY? After everything that's happened?"

Buffy said nothing, but her sobbing gradually eased to a slow hitching.

"You're Angel's soulmate. Literally," Willow reminded her.

Buffy wiped at her eyes. "I know.... but...."

"No buts, Buffy," Willow insisted, helping her friend to sit up, and handed her the Kleenex from the nightstand. "He loves you. More than that. He adores you. You can see it in his eyes whenever he looks at you, or talks about you. You think Faith could really get in the way of that? Nasty, skanky, slutty Faith?"

Buffy half-smiled at her. "I think you've got Faith issues of your own, Will."

"Yes, I do!" Willow admitted easily, "But that's not important. We need to just... keep our heads on straight. Giles and Angel... and, believe it or not, Xander... are right. We do need to find out what's going on before we jump into this with guns blazing."

Buffy frowned. "Yeah, I know. Keep my Slayer cool. But, Willow, you know was well as I do that Faith is trouble. Nothing but. And with a capital T," she said.

"She is. But... is that Angel's fault?" Willow asked softly.

Buffy blew her nose loudly and pouted. "No..." she admitted.

Willow handed her the phone.

*******************************************

"What do you mean, you know them?" Riley said incredulously, watching Faith pace the room like a caged animal.

"Remember I told you there were... things I'd done in my past... before I got sick... that I wasn't exactly proud of?" she asked him.

Riley nodded. "Yeah..."

"Well, they were all part of it. It's kind of a long story, but... I did some nasty things to them," she sunk down on the bed beside him.

"Nasty things... what do you mean?"

Faith looked into his warm, compassionate face, and said a silent prayer to whatever ran the heavens that what she was about to tell him didn't immediately drive him away.

"Do you believe in vampires, Riley?" she began.

*******************************************

Once Willow made her excuses and left, Angel sat down on the bed beside where Buffy lay on her side with her hand tucked under the pillow.

"Are you okay?" he asked, gently brushing a stray hair from her face.

She nodded slowly, "I guess... I'm just..."

"Scared?" he finished for her.

Buffy nodded again. "It's like this horrible sense of deja vu... like last year is happening all over again. All of it. Next thing, you'll be kissing her, then you'll break up with me, then you'll leave me," she cried.

Angel closed his eyes and tried not to chuckle at the absolute absurdity of what she was implying. Instead, he motioned for her to move over, then kicked his shoes off and lay on his side so they were face to face. He looked into her bloodshot eyes and tenderly stroked her cheek with his thumb.

"You know that's not true. None of those things will ever happen again. You know that, don't you?" he asked softly.

Buffy looked deep into his eyes. "I guess... but..."

"No buts, Buffy. No exceptions. No substitutes, no clever ruses or anything of the sort," he said, "I don't have to tell you that, do I? This isn't last year. We're not preparing for some great Armageddon. Faith isn't a minion in the Mayor's army anymore. She's just a girl, alone. And you and I can never be separated -- not by Faith, or destiny, or bad luck, or anything else. Ever."

Buffy sniffled weakly. "I just don't understand why you feel like you have to defend her."

"I'm not defending her. There's no defense for the things she's done. But I do know how it feels to be sucked into evil by circumstances beyond your control. I know what it feels like to walk that line, alone. And, I think that everyone deserves the benefit of the doubt," he concluded, "Don't you?"

Buffy looked at him, hard. Whenever he went all "ancient wise one" on her, she always had dual urges -- one to punch him in his all-knowing, gorgeous face, and the other to crush him in her arms for being so damned unique and special. She usually landed somewhere in the middle.

"Even if somebody dies because we gave her the benefit of the doubt?" she questioned him seriously.

Angel frowned. "No one is going to die," he promised, "We'll find out exactly what's going on, and act from there. Really, Buffy... how bad can anything Faith might be planning be compared to..." he looked away from her, "Other things we've been through?"

Buffy smiled at him, "I know you're right. But I still reserve the 'I told you so' option," she warned.

"Fair enough," he agreed, and kissed her softly. Then, he looked into her eyes once more, "Are you really still jealous of Faith?"

Buffy nodded sheepishly, averting her eyes.

Angel lifted her chin with his finger, "I love you, Buffy. Only you. forever. Faith doesn't even hold a candle to you. Not in beauty, not in personality, and certainly not in sex appeal."

She brightened noticeably, "Not even with that 'Hot Broad Into Rough Sex' thing?"

Angel grinned. "Seems to me I know a certain someone who can handle herself pretty well when things get out of hand..."

"Right. Willow, Mistress of Pain," she joked.

Angel ended their sarcastic banter by kissing Buffy deeply, using his free arm to pull her closer. There was something about the taste of tears in her mouth that stirred something deep and protective in him. And whether he liked it or not, the tiny tang of fear that edged the scent of her blood still gave him a little illicit thrill.

He broke the deeper kiss down into smaller, lighter ones, which he tenderly spread over her face... he touched her lips and her cheek, her chin, and the edges of her jaw.

"Buffy," he whispered in her ear, "There is no being in all the dimensions as beautiful... as desirable... as you," he said, punctuating his declaration with a whisper soft brush of his lips to her earlobe.

Buffy sighed under his attentions, and wrapped her arms around him, gently running her fingers through his hair. Angel rolled her over on to her back and lay his weight on top of her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"You never, never have anything to fear, so long as I live. Not from anyone or anything," he swore breathily, then dipped down to place his cool lips to her throat. His strong hands moved up her sides as he breathed into her skin, giving Buffy a rushing tingle in her blood and making her own breathing quickly grow ragged. She slid her hands down to his waist and back up, smoothing his cool skin, rejoicing in his magnificently hard muscles as she touched him.

"There's nothing you can't face, my love... I believe in you... in your courage... your strength..." he whispered, reaching his hands up over her breasts on top of the thin layer of cotton that separated them like a barrier of stone. He gently teased her hard nipples with his thumb and forefinger, eliciting a blissful groan from deep inside his mate, "But even so... I will always be beside you, whatever comes."

Buffy loved nothing more than when Angel spoke as he made love to her. Loved the way his deep, smooth voice caressed her like a second set of gentle hands. And the things he said. Beautiful things. Incredible things, direct from the depths of his poetic soul, fed the fire that burned within her as much as the rose petal cool of his lips. Thoughts of Faith and jealousy. and pretty much anything else, flew out of her as she relaxed under his familiar ministrations.

Angel closed his eyes and kissed her once again, thrilling at the warmth of her sweet mouth as he gently slid his tongue inside. Between her teeth, which had both nibbled him tenderly, and torn his flesh. Her tongue, which had tasted every inch of him with desire and burning love. which had tasted his blood. Only the second being to ever do so, in all of his many years -- and the only one who had drank him with pure, loving intentions.

If he stopped breathing when he kissed her, when he held his soul's love in his arms like this, he could feel it -- the connection between them that went farther than the blood they shared. Went deeper than their lives or their hearts, or even their very souls. The rhythm of being matched, between them. They shared the most fundamental tie of all. The binding of fundamental essence.

He could feel it as he tangled his hands in her silken hair, and tasted the warm ambrosia of her mouth with the seeking hunger of his own. He could feel her strong heartbeat echoing in his body, making his blood pulse in time with hers. They were, truly and completely, one.

Angel lifted himself on one arm, and moved his free hand over the warm, familiar hills and valleys of her delicious body, still allowing their clothing to keep their skins separate. He continued to kiss her lips deeply as he caressed her throat with a fingertip, down her heaving chest and over her belly, past her womb and over her thighs, setting the thin layer of Lycra covering her legs nearly on fire. Angel went on to trace the line of one knee, down the hard muscle of her left calf, and finally paused to massage her tiny foot. Then, after a sighing moment, he started on the other leg, beginning with the foot and the ankle, softly squeezing the other calf, touching the other knee, the other thigh, and finally, achingly, came to rest between her legs.

Buffy's body hummed and sang at his touch, so much that she was utterly unable to make any noise but her labored breathing, and the occasional gasp of pleasure.

Using the heel of his hand, Angel gently pressed down on the hottest, most blood-engorged part of her. The part that his body so longed to connect to. But this was what he wanted to give her -- the pure sensation of bliss, without the extra burden of dealing with physical bodies. He didn't want her to think about his pleasure, only her own. He pressed down slowly, using all of his fingers to caress her through her clothing. Buffy mewled desperately, and he could immediately feel the hot dampness grow in her core. He unconsciously moaned aloud as she writhed beneath him, grinding her hips up into his gently vibrating hand, encouraging him to touch more of her, harder.

Angel clutched her sex firmly in his hand, gently increasing his rhythm, feeling his own body throb unbelievably as he watched her pleasure grow on her face. The hot flush that colored her cheeks. The way her mouth hung slack and her tongue flicked across her lips as her eyes closed and moans quickly grew into cries of delight. He felt nearly crazy from the thick lust in the air. She was so beautiful... so incredible. He touched her with those thoughts in mind, transferring his overwhelming love for her into the stroke of his hand on her crotch.

Buffy ground her hips in perfect time with the rhythm of his caress, throwing her head back and arching her body hard at the waist.

He could smell the heat in her blood, on her skin, her impending release soaking his fingers, making it all he could do not to rip both of their clothes off and take her right then.

"Buffy..." he groaned, "Open your eyes. Look at me."

She obeyed his gentle command, and looked into his face, fighting to keep her eyes open as her blood boiled and pounded through her, and her heartbeat thundered like a base drum in her ears.

"Angel... Angel, that feels so... Good," she gasped.

"Yes, love," he said, "Look at me when you come. I want to see it in your eyes."

His throaty words were all it took. Struggling to keep her eyes locked on his, she ground harder against his hand, increasing his pressure and rhythm.

"Angel, yes! YES!" she cried out.

"Yes, Ionúin...You're so beautiful... Come to me." he murmured.

Buffy let out a howl as she climaxed, her body going rigid and her hips arching off the bed as she pulled Angel's body close to her, clutching desperately at his back. He sealed his mouth over hers, swallowing her shouts until he could feel them resonating in his chest.

After a few breathless moments, Buffy collapsed, going completely limp against him. Angel lay back on the pillows, taking her still-shivering body into his arms, and cradled her against his chest. He listened to her heartbeat and breath slowly return to normal, and felt his own blood raging with love, and the unsated desire to be inside her.

It didn't matter. Even if he did make love to Buffy right then, and every minute of every day for the rest of eternity, he knew his passion for this woman would never fully be satisfied. He held her tenderly as she dropped off into exhausted slumber.


	3. I Will Always Be Beside You

Riley didn't wake until long after noon on Saturday, which was highly unusual, considering his eyes had snapped open at 5 a.m. on the dot every day for 7 years. But then again, after the events of the previous night, it was really no wonder that he had slept so late. Running into Buffy again… staying up all night listening to Faith's story…

He turned his head to look at her, sleeping peacefully and deeply beside him, with the comforter tucked tightly under her chin. Could everything she'd told him really be true? He knew some of it, of course… Riley already knew all too well that vampires and demons and all manner of monsters did indeed exist, so that, at least, hadn't been a surprise.

When he'd been told that Faith had a "colorful" past, he hadn't had the foggiest idea how colorful. He thought about the story she'd told him the previous night… about her horrible childhood of abuse and neglect at the hands of her alcoholic mother… her Calling as Slayer and the grisly death of her Watcher… her arrival in Sunnydale and all that ensuing madness… The Mayor… Buffy and all of her friends…

He felt like he'd fallen into a Stephen King novel.

Riley looked closely at her lovely face… the thick lashes that he knew framed the sweetest brown eyes… the full, pouty lips turned up at the edges with hints of happy dreams… It was hard for him to believe that she had done all of the horrible things she'd told him about. And the way she'd cried, near the end… so hard that she had to force speech through her hitching sobs. Whoever Faith once had been, she was clearly not that person any longer. Her regret and remorse at all the pain she caused came off her in waves, making his heart feel like it was breaking in her name.

That was the only reason she was still beside him, and not rotting in a cell downstairs. The only reason he had been willing to go against his better judgment and take her into his arms while she cried in the dawn, until his shirt was soaked with her tears.

Faith had spent most of a year unconscious, trapped in her crippled body with nothing but her memories and her nightmares. But instead of waking in fury, driven by a desire for revenge, she had returned to the living full of love, and a desire to make things right. No one had been expecting that.

He reached over and gently touched her cheek, smiling softly and wondering how he could have been so lucky to fall in love with such an extraordinary human being. His only regret was that she might find out the circumstances of their meeting, and then things would certainly never be trusting and comfortable between them, again.

***********************************************

"Okay, now, what happened to Faith that she was in a coma?" Tara asked, dipping the mortar into the dishpan full of hot, soapy water she had perched on the bathroom sink, "And what kind of resin did you say you ground in this? It's been soaking for an hour, and I still can't get it off."

Willow sighed, taking the porcelain bowl and the matching pestle from her friend.

"It's just frankincense. Try the paint thinner," she told her, "And Buffy stabbed her."

Tara looked up, surprised. "Why? Because she shot Angel?" she asked, picking up the next, less dirty item and dipping it in the water.

Willow grabbed the bottle of paint thinner off the shelf, dampened her rag, and started rubbing the sticky grey grime off the pestle. "Well, kind of… Faith shot him with a poisoned arrow, and the poison was mystical -- rare, and deadly to vampires."

"Weird," Tara observed, "But that still doesn't explain why Buffy stabbed Faith," she reminded Willow.

"The only cure for the poison was the blood of the Slayer," she answered quietly, concentrating hard on the porcelain in her hand.

Tara's eyes went wide. "Buffy was going to feed Faith to Angel?!?" she yelped, "That's awful!"

Willow looked up at her again, "What was she supposed to do? Let him die?"

Tara thought of Angel's warm smile and friendly, open demeanor.

"Well, no… but… it's still gross," she replied.

The redhead shrugged.

"Do you think Faith's going to cause trouble? Now that she's back, I mean?" Tara asked.

"I don't know. How can she not? She's evil," Willow stated matter-of-factly.

"In my experience," Tara told her, "People are rarely ever really evil. They just make bad choices."

Willow gave her a look. "In your experience?" she teased. So far as Willow knew, Tara didn't have much experience with evil at all.

The blonde shrugged. "I mean, you know… I've thought about it a lot, since I met your friends… Especially Angel. He was evil, right? But he changed…"

"That's different," Willow argued, "Faith has supposedly always had a soul."

"Hm. Well, I do know that a trip to the nether-realms can sure change your viewpoint on a lot of things…"

"Maybe," Willow replied, "But I wouldn't say that in front of Buffy, if I was you."

Tara looked at her fearfully, "Right. No kidding," she said, recalling the killing glare the Slayer had given Angel the night before for defending Faith.

"She usually doesn't slay Witches, but…" Willow told her.

"Yeah. I'll keep my opinion to myself," Tara swore.

*************************************

"So, what, you're going to take a flat in town?" Buffy mocked in a poor excuse for a British accent, "You know, this isn't LA -- it's two-horse Sunnydale. Where do you think you're going to find the kind of place I know you'll want?" Buffy asked, doing a little pirouette across the living room just for the Hell of it. She was feeling better about the whole Faith thing, today, thanks to a really long night of all-for-her attention from the sexy vampire who stood a few feet away, perched on the back of his couch.

Angel ran his hand through his hair and looked at her.

"I own this place, Buffy. *I* live here. This is my decision to make, and I'm making it," he told her gently but firmly.

Buffy approached him slowly, tucking herself close to him, standing between his knees and looking up into his inscrutable face. She could feel his tension and worry, and wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

"I just don't understand what's wrong with this place, all of a sudden," she said, smiling softly.

Angel held her gaze, his features remaining neutral, "I just don't want to live here anymore," he said.

Buffy kissed his lips gently, resting her hands flat on his broad chest. She loved the way she could feel his muscles through the fine cashmere of his sweater.

"We've shared so much here," she reminded him, "I don't understand why you'd want to leave."

Angel looked deep into her eyes. Part of him was frustrated that she didn't simply understand and accept his decision. There were plenty of fine places in Sunnydale for him to take up residence part-time. And come fall, when Buffy moved to LA, there would hardly be a need for a place to stay, here. If and when they came back, there would be plenty of places for them to lay their heads.

Another part of him wondered if Buffy had just somehow blanked out so many of the things that happened between them here that were less than pleasant--some of the worst moments of his long life, as a matter of fact. And now that they had begun this new life together, the last thing he wanted was living in a constant reminder of what had come before.

He put his arms around her tiny waist and leaned his forehead against hers.

"I want us to start from scratch, that's all. We've both said we want to leave the past behind us, and I think getting rid of this place is a step in that direction," he told her.

Buffy nuzzled his nose softly, "I don't know, Angel… I don't know if I want to let all this go…"

"Well, I'm glad I came by today. If you guys moved, I'd never be able to find you."

Buffy pulled abruptly out of Angel's arms and spun to face Faith, leaning in the front doorway. She felt Angel tense behind her, and her own body immediately went into fight mode.

"Faith," she said, "What do you want?"

The brunette didn't move from the doorway, as though she was an unwelcome vampire hoping for an invitation. Angel watched her body language carefully, searching for signs of her intent. But her face was neutral with the exception of a small smile, and her posture nervous, but relaxed. He was surprised, somewhat, to smell fear on her. She was a complex woman, and in his brief interactions with her, he'd sensed a lot of things in her -- confusion, rage… the vague aura of being lost… but never this sort of fear.

"I'm not sure," Faith said, still not coming any closer, "I… I thought I should…"

Buffy broke fully away from Angel and advanced on her enemy.

"You thought you should what?" she hissed, "Finish what you started? Take revenge for your demon boss? Well, you can just forget it! You may be able to sucker Riley, but we toasted the Mayor, and I'll take care of you just as easily."

Both Angel and Faith jumped when Buffy produced a small pistol from somewhere in the back of her jeans.

'What is she DOING?'

Buffy heard the voice in her head, but ignored it.

"Buffy…" Angel said, his voice low with warning. Where did the gun come from? He hadn't felt it on her when they were embracing. He wasn't convinced that Faith meant them any harm, and he'd hate to see Buffy shoot first and ask questions after the coroner left.

"No, Angel, it's okay," Faith told him, giving him a weak smile. She finally stepped fully into the room, and met Buffy's gaze.

"You have every right to hate me, Buffy…" she began.

The primary Slayer's green eyes were barely slits, but Faith could still see the terror and hatred that burned hot in them. She cringed inside, but struggled not to let it show. She hadn't come for a showdown. She'd only come to try and make some peace.

But the way Buffy was looking at her… the way she held the Derringer before her, sure and steady, made Faith realize she might never get that far.

"You're goddamn right, I do," Buffy spat, "And I have every right to kill you, too. I won't let you near any of us. EVER."

Faith took another step toward her.

"Move again, and I'll blow your head off," Buffy barked.

As she stalked across the room, Angel followed her. There was absolutely no way he was going to let his lover commit murder, no matter what Faith's intentions might be. He knew from experience, as he was certain that the other Slayer did, that once you took that step… took that first life in cold blood, there was no coming back from it. A more clear-headed Buffy would never be able to bear the guilt.

Faith stood tall, "I know you will," she said flatly, "I'm not afraid to die. I died once already, remember?"

Buffy stopped her advance, but held the gun still pointed at Faith's head. The hesitation provided Angel all the opportunity he needed. He stepped between the two women, facing Buffy, cutting off any direct shot at Faith, unless she lay him low first. And he knew she would never do that.

"Buffy, this isn't the way to deal with this…" he said, using the most soothing tone he could muster.

She looked up at him as though she hadn't realized he was standing there. The level at which she held the gun was almost perfectly in line with his heart.

"She has to pay," Buffy said, her voice disturbingly even and sure, "She has to die. I won't let her hurt anyone again."

"Angel, get out of the way," Faith said behind him, "This is between Buffy and me."

Angel didn't turn, or move, but kept his gaze fixed on Buffy.

"We can work this out without violence, Buffy. Give me the gun," he said calmly, belying the shuddering terror he felt in his bones. He held out his hand toward her.

Buffy felt it… felt his fear, and flicked her gaze to his outstretched hand before she looked into his eyes, "How can you defend her? She tried to steal your SOUL! She tried to kill you, and me, and everybody else in this town. You're just as afraid of her as I am. I'm not going to let her get away with any of it."

"Give me the gun," Angel repeated, turning on his rarely-used hypnotic talent--one of the very few valuable inheritances a vampire received from being part of the Master's bloodline. Buffy was only barely suggestible, he knew, but he hoped it would be enough, "Killing her isn't justice. This isn't you, Buffy. Please."

His soothing, pleading tone touched her through the red haze of rage that blinded her vision. She realized suddenly that his fear wasn't for Faith, but for her and what she was threatening to do. Buffy held the gun still level with his chest, blinking in confusion, but didn't back down.

"I can't. I can't let her… I can't," she babbled, her resolve breaking down. But still, she didn't lower the pistol.

Faith knew this wasn't going to work. She couldn't just approach them and apologize, and expect them to accept her. If she stayed and tried to force it, someone was going to get hurt.

"Angel, it's okay. Forget it," she said, "I'll go. Buffy… I'm…sorry."

Angel felt the tension in the room dissipate suddenly, and knew that Faith had departed. Buffy stared at the empty spot over his shoulder for a moment, then dropped the gun to the floor with a dull clank as she collapsed, weeping, into his arms.

"Shhh… Sweet, it's okay. She's gone," he murmured.

Buffy sobbed, clutching him desperately. "I won't let her hurt you. I won't!" she cried.

They sagged to the cold stone floor, and Angel cradled her gently against him as she cried, as overwhelmed by her fear as by his own. Buffy was right. Whatever Faith's intentions might be, she was still trouble.

**************************************

Cordelia could never run up the damned stairs fast enough. Pretty soon, she was going to have to give up high heels forever, and give in to better judgment… and friendly advice from Doyle, Angel, and Wesley. That meant (*gag*) "Comfortable Shoes", fit for running, sliding in sewer muck, and cleaning up monster mess.

She reached the chair where Doyle sat clutching his head, with Wesley leaning over him, and struggled to unscrew the new bottle of Scotch in her hands.

Wesley watched her efforts for a moment before snatching it away, eliciting a dark look from her. He didn't bother with the glass Cordelia held in her other hand, but shoved the open bottle under the suffering half-demon's nose. Doyle grabbed it like a lifeline and took four long pulls before looking up at the pair of worried faces above him.

"Who the Hell is Faith?" he asked once his breath returned, and the pain stopped being a splitting sensation and turned into the expected dull throb.

Cordelia and Wesley exchanged identical and shocked and terrified looks.


	4. Some Other Beginning's End

Angel reluctantly left a still-hysterical Buffy with Willow and Tara, and headed straight for the frat house where he now knew (thanks to some prodding of Willow) that Riley Finn lived. One way or another, he was going to find out Faith's intentions before things got any more out of hand than they already were. If they didn't do something to remedy this quickly, Buffy could very well be headed for a breakdown. Angel wasn't about to let that happen.

The sun had set barely an hour before, and the world was cast in the creepy, unreal grey haze of twilight, making everything around him seem more shadowed and dramatic than it might have been during the day. Dark and pre-dawn were Angel's favorite parts of the day -- those in-between times when he could still sense the dangerous warmth of the sun, and pretend for a moment that he was still its child. An almost human sensation that he remembered well, no matter how many years passed him by.

The incident that afternoon with Buffy, Faith, and especially, the gun, frightened him more than he liked to admit. He'd never seen Buffy use a gun before. For that matter, he hadn't seen any of the gang besides Xander, with one. It seemed incongruous with their usual, more mystical means of battle, and their reliance on strength and heart, rather than technology, to triumph. He didn't even have one in his own extensive collection of weapons. Where had Buffy gotten the damned thing? And how afraid must she be of Faith, to have gone out of her way to procure it, let alone carry it and brandish it on the secondary Slayer?

He knew that there was no time for diplomacy here. Buffy was being quickly overwhelmed by her fear, and it was time to put all this nonsense to rest before their choices for action were eliminated by something unfortunate, done in a panic.

Angel by no means wanted to speak to Buffy's former beau. He barely trusted himself to keep his head clear and his jealousy in check enough to question the boy. His possessiveness of Buffy had always been irrational -- the result of his soul-deep desire to protect her from harm in return for all that she'd given him, over the years. Now, more than ever, his basic reason for living was to keep her safe.

Riley had never done anything to hurt Buffy, that he knew of. But it didn't make him resent the boy any less. His involvement with Faith only complicated matters.

He shook his head and rang the doorbell. This was not the time for personal feelings, either. For now, he needed to concentrate on facts. Angel put on his best detective face, and waited.

A bald, muscular African-American boy answered the door, regarding Angel suspiciously with deep, expressive brown eyes.

"Yes?" he asked. A single word containing a million different questions.

"I'm looking for Riley Finn. Is he around?" Angel kept his tone cool and neutral.

The young man squinted at him, as though he recognized him, but couldn't quite put his finger on why. "Who are you?" he asked rudely. Something about the tall stranger made his skin crawl.

"My name is Angel. I'm a friend of Buffy Summers," he replied, "I need to speak to Riley for a minute, if he's available. It's very  
important."

The boy's gaze flickered with what looked distinctly like anger, to Angel. Perhaps he wasn't a fan of Buffy's? But as quickly as the expression appeared, it was gone.

"Come in. I'll get him," he said, standing aside to let Angel move into the foyer, then left him there to jog up the stairs to Riley's room.

Finn was at his desk, correcting papers. His new girlfriend was nowhere to be seen. Which was fine with Forest. Faith was just too creepy for his comfort. He didn't care how important she was to Riley or to the Initiative. He just knew she was trouble.

"Ri, there's some guy here to see you. Says he's a friend of Buffy's," Forrest told his C.O. with obvious distaste.

Riley's head snapped up, and what looked distinctly like fear shone in his blue eyes.

"A friend of Buffy's? Who?" he asked harshly.

"Says his name's Angel," Forest replied.

Riley jumped up from his chair. "Jesus! You didn't invite him in, did you?"

Forrest was taken aback by Riley's suddenly very weird behavior.

"Well, yeah. He's in the foyer. Why, man? Who the Hell is this guy?"

Finn looked his friend in the eye. "Trouble, that's who he is. Keep your eyes open, and don't turn you back on him for a second. Have a team on call, just in case."

The tall blonde took a stake out of his desk drawer and tucked it into the back of his jeans, covering it with the hem of his tee-shirt, then pushed past Forrest and headed down the stairs.

Forrest stood staring at the doorway for a moment once Riley had gone. His visitor was a vampire? No wonder the stranger had made him so uncomfortable. He grabbed Riley's tazer from the nightstand and hid it in the front pocket of his sweatshirt, hoping he could make it down to headquarters without attracting the vampire's attention.

*****************************

Faith clutched the payphone's receiver in her hand and stared at the numbered buttons. She had a quarter. She had Mr. Giles' number. What was she waiting for?

Some reassurance that the ex-Watcher would bother to listen to anything she had to say, for starters. Hell, she didn't even know if she believed herself. When she had wakened in the private hospital room at Sunnydale General, she'd been completely lost and confused. She didn't really remember who she was, at first, or anything that had happened before. She didn't feel any rage or resentment. She was tired and weak, but that was all.

Then Riley came along. He was a volunteer in the long-term care ward, apparently. A genuine do-gooder. He'd told her that he came and read to her twice a week for months while she was unconscious, and as they spent more time together, she quickly found herself falling in love with him. Or at least, she thought that was what was happening. She'd never been there before, so she wasn't sure. She definitely liked him... the grace with which he'd listened to her story was just... foreign, to her.

Because she felt the way she did about him, even when her memory returned, she didn't tell him anything, at first. He was all she had now, and Faith would be damned before she'd let him slip away because of her filthy past. Riley was kind and understanding, and never pressed her about it. He only took her in without question, into his life and his home, and spent as much time with her as he could during her recovery.

Just knowing he believed in her had helped Faith work things out in her head. If Riley thought she was a good person, there must be some hope, right? She'd been wanting to talk to Buffy and the others for a long time, now, but she was, frankly, scared shitless. Afraid of what they might do or say. Afraid they might turn her over to the cops. Afraid that Buffy herself might do something rash -- like pull a gun on her.

But whatever their reaction, Faith couldn't just let it go.

"Giles," he answered, promptly on the second ring.

Faith hesitated -- she hadn't even realized she dialed. Her mind had a tendency to slip away like that, sometimes.

"Um. Mr. Giles? It's Faith."

Silence. Faith fidgeted with the phone cord, chewing her lip.

"Mr. Giles?"

"Yes, Faith, I'm here," he said, uncertainty clear in his crisp, proper voice. Did she detect just the tiniest hint of fear, beneath? "What do you want?"

That seemed to be the universal question.

Giles sat, feeling the ache of tension quickly build in his already weary shoulders. It had been a long, sleepless night, considering all the  
possibilities of what Faith's return might portend. Then, there had been the upsetting phone call from Wesley.

He fought to keep his calm, as he had urged Buffy to do, but with little success. He kept Angel &amp; Xander's wise suggestions that Faith's intentions might be benign strictly at the front of his consciousness, but caution was still the better part of his, and his dear friends', safety.

"I guess, um. I guess Buffy probably already told you about the other night." Faith said.

"She told me that she saw you at the Bronze, but that was all," he told her.

"I went over to see her and Angel this afternoon."

"And?" Giles asked, his fear growing exponentially by the moment. Was Faith about to tell him she had killed them? He shook the irrational thought from his mind.

"And... She wasn't very happy to see me," Faith replied.

Giles almost sighed with relief, "No. I imagine she wouldn't be. Can you blame her?"

Faith didn't need to consider her answer. "No, I don't blame her. I just... I want to talk to her. To all of you. There's a lot... I mean, I have a lot of things to apologize for."

Giles sighed. Could they trust her? Did she really mean to make amends, or was this another of her sinister tricks? If she was sincere, and truly needed their help, what might be the result if they turned her away?

Either way, there would most certainly be serious consequences. And considering the fact that Pryce had rung to warn them about Faith's return, as seen in Mr. Doyle's vision, they would certainly need to be prepared for something momentous.

"I understand, Faith. What do you require of me?" It felt wrong to say. Why should he be asking what he could do for her, after all that she had done to hurt Buffy and her friends? But, alas, it was his duty as Watcher, to be always available for the Slayer -- even if she was a raving psychopath. His humanity compelled him to reach out to her, as well.

"I thought. Maybe... If you called the others together... they might feel safer talking to me. Do you think... Maybe... We could? Sit down and talk. All of us, I mean."

Giles was taken aback by her contrite, pleading tone. The girl might be seriously mentally ill, but she was not that talented an actress. He could practically feel her pain and fear across the phone line, and her uncertainty rang clear in her words.

After a moment, he said, "Are you certain that would be wise, Faith?"

She blinked, staring at the graffiti etched into the payphone's face. "Maybe not," she said, "I don't know. I just... I need to try. I have to try, Mr. Giles. Even if you all tear me apart or turn me over to the Council or the cops. I still have to try."

Giles was silent once more.

"Alright," he said finally, "I will do what I can. Why don't you come to my house at about 10 p.m. Is that satisfactory?"

He practically heard her relief in her exhalation. "Yes. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," he replied, and hung up.

Faith hung up the receiver and fished around in the change dispenser out of habit, thinking about what Giles had said. Was this smart? Did she really want to stand face to face with their fear and hatred? What if Buffy killed her, this time? What if Angel wasn't willing to come to her defense?

She resumed chewing her lip, this time until it bled, and she felt the copper tang of the plasma in her mouth. No, she definitely didn't think this was a good idea. But, if she really wanted to build a new life. If she really wanted to get help and start again, this was the first thing she had to do. Everything else could be built on the Scooby Gang's forgiveness.

*************************************

Tara was just about to kiss Willow. She couldn't help it. They'd spent all afternoon cleaning their magickal tools, talking about Willow's friends, and memorizing important incantations using clever mnemonic devices they'd learned in Spanish class. Willow Rosenberg was simply amazing, in her estimation, and Tara could hardly bring herself to think about anything else but the redhead's sweet, smiling lips.

But, no. It wasn't fair to Willow. She was confused. In a weird place because of her remaining feelings for Oz. Tara couldn't blame her, really. The werewolf was smart and kind, and so funny, in an 'I-have-more-wisdom-than-I'm-sharing' way, and despite her jealousy and  
all her best efforts to hate him for coming between her and Willow, she just couldn't do it.

Besides, what Willow really needed was a friend, not a lover. And she cared about her sister Witch enough to put her own feelings aside, and be that for her. What else could she do?

Willow's giggling recitation was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. The redhead rolled her eyes.

"Hold that thought," she told Tara, and grabbed the receiver. "Hello? Giles, hey!" she said, and paused to listen for a few seconds, "Oh. Tonight? Sure, But. Why? Is something wrong?"

More listening. Willow's face slowly dropped, then scrunched.

"WHAT? Are you KIDDING?" she yelped, "What could she possibly have to say that any of us want to hear? No. Well, of course. Yes. Okay. I'll be there at 10."

Willow hung up, and looked at Tara, worry creasing her features.

"What is it? What's going on?" Tara asked worriedly. A call from Giles that left Willow looking like that could only mean one thing -- danger. World in peril sort of danger. And with a psycho killer on the loose, danger could be much more than just their average demon sort of trouble.

"Faith wants to talk to us," Willow told her.

Tara started a little, shocked. "What? Why?"

Willow shook her head. "I have no idea."

*********************************

Angel watched Riley carefully. The boy was obviously uncomfortable, but he couldn't quite determine exactly why. Was it because he knew Angel was Buffy's lover, and he resented his presence? Or had Faith told him something else that made him so nervous?

"Thank you for agreeing to speak to me. I realize this is awkward," he began.

Riley snorted snidely and shook his head. "Yeah, awkward."

Angel frowned at the boy's childish behavior. "I assure you, I'm not here to make you uncomfortable."

Riley's blue eyes locked on him and wouldn't let go. Angel could smell his fear, an acrid tang lacing the air. But there was something else , as well. Hatred? A feeling far too deep and fierce to come only from jealousy or resentment over some perceived slight. The rage that came off the boy was more akin to the feeling a warrior gets when facing his worst enemy on the field of battle.

"Really," Riley said, "I can't imagine why else you'd be here. Is this about Buffy? Because, I can tell you, there's nothing between us anymore. If there ever was at all."

Angel's eyes narrowed. "I know that," he said, "I'm not here about Buffy, either. I wanted to talk to you about Faith."

The blonde's features remained neutral, but his posture changed significantly, growing even more tense. Angel could practically taste the fact that the soldier was hiding something.

"Faith," Riley echoed.

Angel nodded.

"What about her?" Riley asked.

"How much has she told you about her past?"

Riley scowled. "I don't know what you mean."

Angel knew he was lying, but he let the ruse slide. For now. "Buffy and I have had some. Trouble. With her in the past. Before she. Fell ill. I need to know if you think we can expect more of the same. I need to know what her plans are."

Riley examined the vampire's features carefully. He'd never been this close to a demon that he wasn't about to shoot or stake, before, let alone sat down and talked with one. Angel was pretty large. Not as big as he himself, but he was clearly old, and that probably meant very, very strong. The stake rubbing against the skin of his waist was a comfort, but he wasn't entirely sure he would even have time to pull it free before Angel snapped his neck.

"Faith doesn't want to cause anyone any trouble. She just wants to start a new life," he answered honestly.

Angel watched Finn's face, and saw that he was telling the truth, at least as he knew it. He felt safe in assuming that if Faith was hatching some sort of plot against her former friends, then Riley was probably not part of it.

"Fine," Angel replied, "I'm glad to hear that."

Riley got up.

"Is that all?" he asked, hoping to get this over with as soon as possible, and not caring if he had to be rude to do it, "Is there anything  
else you want to know?"

Angel looked up at him as Riley rose, then got up himself. No reason why they should draw this out. There was no more information to he had, here.

"That's all," he confirmed, and added, "I can recommend, though, that you watch your back. Faith is probably in a very dangerous place, right now, and I don't know how stable she might be."

Riley glared at him, his jaw bulging angrily as he ground his teeth, and snarled "I think I probably know her a little bit better than you do."

Angel suppressed a wry smile at the boy's bravado.

"Good. I hope you're right," he told him, "Thanks again for seeing me."

Riley guided Angel toward the door.

"Glad to be of help," he said to the vampire.

Angel looked at Riley for a moment, still sensing a vague wrongness in him, and in this house, but left without another comment. Riley slammed the door as soon as he was down the steps.

************************************

Cordelia moved the mop in perfectly straight lines, cringing at the one big puddle of slime she was creating at the center of the floor. This Carahg Demon or whatever was much messier than any of the books had explained. She hated being unprepared when she had clean-up detail, and all their research had insisted the stupid things didn't bleed. Right. But apparently, they turned to a puke-green goo when you beheaded them. That was nowhere in the books, she was certain of it. And she was severely pissed off about ruining yet another outfit in the name of Good. She thought again about proposing that Angel add a wardrobe hazard bonus to her salary.

"I still think we should've gone to Sunnydale," Doyle said for the tenth time in as many minutes, "If Faith is as bad as the books say, they  
might need our help."

"The only 'help' they need to take care of Faith is a really big gun," Cordy snapped, plugging in the Wet-Vac.

"Yeah but," the half-demon insisted.

Cordelia spun, prepared to yell at him. But when she faced him at last, and saw the concern for Angel etched on his rugged features, her heart immediately softened. She walked slowly over to where he stood, wiping down the axe he had used to decapitate the Carahg. He was so strong, so brave. A hero in his own right, as much as Angel was. The balance of that strength with Doyle's deep compassion and wry humor made him one of the most incredible people she'd ever met. And considering she had shaken Brad Pitt's hand, once, that was saying something.

She put her arms around his waist and looked into his eyes, "If Angel needs us, he'll call," she promised.

Doyle's frown deepened. "Would he? I mean, the man's not exactly the king of the cell phone. Or the cry for help, for that matter. What if this Faith kills all of them before he even has a chance to pick up the phone?"

Cordy lifted one hand, and traced the beloved plane of his cheek with a gentle fingertip.

"Then you'd probably have another vision. You worry too much," she said softly, "You're going to give yourself a heart attack."

Doyle finally smiled at her, and Cordelia found herself breathless at the way his eyes lit up.

"Would that bother ya, then, my Princess?" he asked.

She nodded. "Of course it would bother me. I mean, who else would help me on clean-up detail? Wesley?"

He laughed at the thought, and kissed her softly.

**************************************

Xander swung Anya's hand as they walked.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" she asked him, "I mean, you do realize, don't you, that we're probably meeting at Giles' for our bloody  
execution."

Xander shook his head, "I don't think so. I mean, Faith would have a lot harder time doing anything with all of us together in one place, don't you think?"

Anya studied him carefully. "Not with an Uzi."

He shot her a look. "And where, exactly, do you think Faith could get an Uzi? The college store?"

The ex-demon shrugged, "Maybe Riley has one. He seems... Soldierly."

Xander chuckled. " I know he's a putz, but I really don't think he's very well armed."

"You're a putz, and you're well armed," she reminded him.

"Thanks a lot," he pouted, "You know, you don't have to come. You can stay home and be safe."

Anya stopped walking and glared at him, "And let you die alone? NO WAY!"

He pulled her close, "That's what I love about you, ‘Retribution Girl’. Loyalty to the end."

"Damn right," Anya agreed emphatically, "Nobody's gonna murder my boyfriend in cold blood unless they murder me, too!"

Xander kissed her, and they resumed the walk to their meeting with Faith.

************************************

Faith returned to Riley's room at 9:30, and quickly changed into one of the many outfits he'd bought for her. They were a little schoolmarm-y for her taste, usually, but beggars couldn't be choosers. Besides, tonight it would be helpful to look as harmless as she possibly could.

"Are you going out?" Riley asked as he entered the room.

She turned slowly and looked at him. "Yeah. I'm going to talk to Buffy and the others."

Riley frowned. "Do you think that's a good idea, Faith? I mean, from what you told me, I can't imagine they'll be too receptive to what you have to say."

Faith scowled at him. "Why does everybody keep reminding me of that? I know they hate me, Riley! But damn it, I just want to do what's right!" she snapped, "Why is that so hard to believe?"

Riley closed his eyes for a moment, then looked up at her again.

"Angel came by today," he told her.

Faith's eyes went wide. "What? Why?"

"He wanted to know if you were going to cause trouble."

She sat down next to Riley on the bed, "And what did you say?" she asked, not meeting his eyes.

Riley shrugged. "I told him 'no'," he reached down to raise her gaze to his own, "You're not, are you?"

Faith frowned darkly and got up, "I can't believe you can even ask me that. I told you… I just want to make things right," she said angrily, and headed for the door.

Riley jumped up to stop her. "Faith, I'm sorry. But, you have to admit, we don’t' really know each other very well, and… the things you've told me are pretty incredible."

She turned and glared at him, "That's right. You don't know me. I don't even know if *I* know me. But these people busted their asses to help me once, and I owe them."

Riley let his hand drop from her arm, "Do you want me to go with you?" he asked, his face soft with concern.

Faith gave him a weak smile.

"No. I did all the damage myself. I have to clean it up." She kissed him briefly, then turned and left without another word.

Riley stared after her, wondering if he would ever see her again. His intentions toward Faith might not have started out as entirely pure, but time had brought feelings for her that he never expected to the surface. He was suddenly torn between his duty, and his emotions.

After a moment, he got up and put his shoulder holster on, packing the storage pockets with ammunition and a pistol, and tucked his tazer into another pocket. He covered his small armory with a light jacket, and followed Faith out the door.

Duty or love -- it didn't matter. He was compelled to follow her.

*****************************

Buffy was asleep on the couch when Angel returned from his visit with Riley. She looked exhausted and drained, as if she'd spent twenty-four hours fighting demons, instead of worrying.

He gazed tenderly down at her. He knew how much Faith's return was bothering her, now. The gun incident had pretty much summed it up. No matter how much time passed that he had to think about it rationally, the very idea still frightened him. Where and when had she gotten it? From Xander, maybe? And, more importantly, why hadn't she told him about it?

Angel felt this situation-- like so many other things that had happened to them in their relationship--was his fault. The reason Buffy felt a gun was necessary to protect them was because he hadn't done his part to make her feel safe. He had, instead, defended Faith. Probably not the wisest or most sensitive move, on his part. But last year, when Buffy had asked him to talk to the rogue Slayer, he had. And he was certain he had been reaching her, too. Of course, all of his handiwork, and any possibility of saving her at the time, were destroyed by Wesley.

Angel saw something in Faith. Saw something that reminded him so much of himself, it was staggering. If the Whistler had come forward eight decades before and tried to give him guidance then, would his life have taken another path? What if Darla hadn't turned him away the very night he regained his soul? Everything about the past century might have been different, either way.

He looked down at the sleeping face of his beloved. She was the key -- the final element that sparked the beginning of his journey to salvation. Loving her fueled his efforts, giving him strength of purpose back in the days when he had no sense of anything at all, but guilt and consuming self-loathing. From Buffy, he learned that love was enough of a reason to fight -- enough of a reason to keep rising each night.. Everything he had done since he'd known her was inspired by her--or done for her--in some way.

The right person -- the right combination of circumstances at the right time -- all of these combined created a space for amends to be made, debts paid, and absolution given. An opportunity to shine light where there once had been none. Angel couldn't help but think that now was the right time and space for Faith. And if it was in his power, he was compelled to offer his help.

Buffy wouldn't like it. Hell, she would hate it -- and possibly, him as a result. But he knew in the bottom of his soul that it was the right thing to do. He would make Buffy understand, somehow.

His cell phone rang, breaking his reverie, and he moved quickly to the kitchen to answer it before the noise woke Buffy.

"Angel," he answered.

"It's Giles."

"Hello, Rupert. Is something wrong?" He'd already talked to the Watcher earlier about patrol that night, so if he was calling this late, something must be up.

"I need you and Buffy to come to my house later."

"Okay, we can do that. We'll make a sweep past your place. What time?"

"By 10 o'clock," Giles told him.

"We'll be there," he promised, "Can I ask what this is about?"

Giles sighed. "Faith would like to meet with us collectively."

Silence.

"Angel, are you still there?"

Angel shook his head to clear it. "Yes. I'm here," he said, his voice flat.

"Are you alright?" Giles asked.

"I'm fine. I'll be there at 10. But I don't think it's a good idea to bring Buffy."

"Why ever not? Whatever Faith has to say, I believe Buffy has a right to hear, don't you?" he said, his voice reproachful. Would Angel still try to keep Buffy so sheltered, even after all they'd been through?

Now it was Angel's turn to sigh, "Faith came to the mansion this afternoon."

"Yes. She mentioned that," Giles confirmed, "What happened?"

"Buffy was upset," Angel said, uncertain if he should tell him about the gun.

"Understandably. But that's not why you don't want to bring her here."

"No," Angel agreed.

Giles frowned. Buffy had often referred to Angel as "cryptic" -- it still seemed to hold as a fairly accurate description.

"Angel, please. Don't be obtuse," he chided the vampire.

It was almost soothing to hear Giles treating him like a child. Quite a pleasant change from being treated like a barely leashed monster.

"Buffy pulled a gun on her," he finally admitted.

"She WHAT?! Where did she… my GOD. Are you both alright? Did she…"

"No. Nothing happened. We're fine. But I don't think Buffy's in any state of mind to be dealing with Faith right now. Not rationally, anyway."

"No, of course, you're right," Giles agreed, his stomach clenching in fear, "We might well be standing at a very important crossroads with Faith. Even tempers must prevail."

"But I'll be there, in case there's trouble."

"Fine, yes. Alright. We'll see you at 10, then," Giles said.

"Ten o'clock," Angel confirmed, and hung up. He headed back to the living room, glad to see that Buffy hadn't moved -- there was no doubt in his mind that she would be furious to find out he planned to meet with Faith without her.

He crouched down beside the sofa and looked deeply at his lover's sweetly sleeping face. He was reminded of how young she really was, when she was in the land of dreams. Her features took on a softer, more innocent quality, as unconsciousness drained away her world-weary cynicism and her defensive wit. Angel wished he could have done something to keep her just like this -- let her have her innocent hopes and dreams like a young woman should. But her duty precluded the denial that shielded most humans, and he had not only not been able to protect her from the monsters under the bed, he had become one -- more than once. The fault for Buffy's loss of innocence fell on him in more ways than one.

She slept deeply, her mouth hanging open slightly, allowing her warm, sweet breath to escape in little puffs. Trying not to wake her, Angel gently scooped her into his arms, blanket and all, and carried her into he bedroom. He lay her tenderly down on what had become their bed -- when he was in town, Buffy rarely stayed in the dorm. He tucked her under the thick down comforter, kissed her tenderly on the forehead, and turned to leave.

"Angel?" she murmured sleepily.

Damn. So much for letting her rest. Angel moved back to the bed and sat down on the edge beside her, automatically reaching out to brush a few strands of stray golden hair from her face.

"Mo croi…" he said.

"Where are you going?" she asked, slowly waking.

Angel hesitated. Lying to Buffy was one of the things he tried hardest not to do, "Out on patrol," he told her, and it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Wait. I'll get up," she insisted, moving to sit upright.

Angel gently pushed her back down. "You rest. I can handle it, for tonight," he said firmly.

"No, Angel…" she began to object.

He silenced her with a gently reproachful look. Finally, Buffy relented, and sank back against the pillows. She watched Angel's face carefully. She could tell her lover was preoccupied -- no, she could feel it. He held his body with barely restrained tension, and his eyes flashed with a deep fire that signaled some violence bubbling within his thoughts. Buffy thought she could almost hear the jumble of battling voices in his mind, arguing about something…

"Angel… what's going on?" she asked, her worry clear in her voice.

Angel looked at her for a long moment. "Nothing you need to worry about, Álainn. Go back to sleep. I'll be back before you know it." He punctuated his promise by lightly brushing her cheek with a fingertip, and giving her a gentle smile.

Buffy frowned. Something was definitely going on. This just didn't feel right.

"Angel…" she objected.

This time, he silenced her with a kiss. It was meant to be just that -- a simple gesture to allay her fears, and prevent the conversation from moving in a direction that would either require that he lie to her, or that he tell her the full truth. Neither was acceptable, right now.

But as soon as his lips made contact with hers, all conscious thought was wiped from him. It happened a lot, lately… When he kissed Buffy deeply, or touched her in some other intimate way, it was like a storm rushing through him that went far beyond lust, or passion, or even his soul-deep love for her. It was as though he could feel her… feel what she was feeling as he touched her. Sometimes he could hear her whisper his name when he knew full well she hadn't spoken. It was as though he were suddenly inside of her consciousness.

Buffy felt it too. She'd been sensing it grow stronger for a while, now, since the ritual that bound their souls that night at the mansion. She'd always been good at reading Angel, and was usually pretty accurate in her guesses at what he might be thinking. But this was different. Now, as their kiss grew deeper, and he tangled his big hands in her hair as his mouth devoured hers with searing tenderness, it was almost as though Buffy could hear his thoughts in her own mind…

After a moment, Angel pulled away… His face became distant, as though he were listening to some music she couldn't hear. But as soon as she noticed it, it was gone, and a tender smile had taken its place. He looked deeply into her eyes, his expression full of passion and wonder.

"I have to go," he told her, his voice a rough whisper, "I'll be back soon."

He rose, and Buffy grabbed his hand to stop him. She couldn't help the feeling in her gut that this was all wrong… along with the irrational fear that was suddenly growing in her, like she might never see him again.

"Don't go…" she begged softly.

Angel crouched down once more, and gave her another soft, brief kiss. "Don't worry, Sweet… everything will be fine." He gave her hand a squeeze, and pulled away, knowing that if he didn't break the burning link between them right this moment, her fear would force him to stay.

Buffy tried not to cry. "Be careful, Angel… I love you."

Angel smiled and gave her a little wink, "I love you, too."


	5. Connection

Faith stared at the door, unable to knock, the same doubts and fears freezing her to the spot as had been plaguing her all day. What would she say to them? What would they say to her? Would Buffy shoot her dead before anyone got a chance to say anything at all?

No. With everyone here, Buffy wouldn't feel so threatened. Giles and Angel would certainly keep their cool, and help keep the situation as under control as it could be.

What was she doing here? Did she really think that stopping by to apologize would solve anything?

Her thoughts turned to Riley. He was a good, kind person, an honest person. If Faith ever hoped to deserve the kind of love that he offered her, she would have to do the right thing. Cleanse herself, take responsibility for her actions, and make a new start as best she could.

She looked back up at the door again. Behind it were the people she'd hurt the most -- the ones that were still alive, anyway. So here was where she would have to begin.

Faith felt someone approach from behind her. Her gut said "Vampire", and she spun to face the newcomer, ready to fight.

"Angel," she said, exhaling.

"I guess I'm not late, then," he joked, looking down at her.

She stared at him.

"Are you going in?" he asked, nodding toward the door.

Faith nodded and looked at the ground. "Yeah," she said, "Maybe someday."

Angel decided to show the poor girl some mercy, stood next to her on the step, and gave the door a firm knock. Faith smiled her thanks up at him.

Giles answered the door, his eyes flying open in surprise as he stared at Faith, then at Angel, then Faith again. He certainly hadn't expected them to arrive together.

"Rupert," Angel said, giving him a friendly nod.

Giles blinked a couple of times, and then collected himself.

"Er... Angel. Faith. Do come in." He stood aside as first Slayer, then vampire, entered his home.

The room had the air of a war crimes tribunal. Willow and Xander sat toward one end of the couch, and Anya sat at the bar as if it was a courtroom gallery. Giles offered Faith a seat, and she took the chair directly across from the couch. Giles filled its empty place, and Angel sat in a second chair to Faith's left.

Everyone stared at one another in tense silence. Faith noted that Buffy was conspicuously absent.

"Okay. since I asked for this, I guess I'll get right to it. I don't have a speech prepared or anything, but." she fidgeted nervously, unsure how to continue.

"So just tell us what you want, then," Willow said. It came out terse and mean despite her best efforts to stay neutral and in control. Giles had told them all about Buffy and the gun, and it made keeping her temper seem even more important than before.

"I don't... I'm not sure what I want," Faith replied, still not making eye contact with anyone, "I just know that... I have all these memories of things I've done, and they don't even feel like they're mine. It's like somebody else did all those things with my body, and I didn't have any control over them. Until now."

Angel cringed inwardly, knowing that frustration and pain all too well himself.

She raised her eyes at last, and examined each face in the room, hoping for some clue as to how she should proceed. Problem was, each one showed something different. Angel remained neutral, impassive -- a perfect poker face. Xander looked more confused than anything else. Willow looked as though she wished she had a gun. Giles was clearly worried, and not a little bit afraid. The skinny brunette at the bar looked bored.

"I don't want to be that person anymore." Faith went on, "All that rage, all that. I don't know. Desire to hurt, I guess? Is just gone. All I want is a chance to tell you I'm sorry. And. A chance to start from scratch."

"Scratch?" Willow spat, suddenly coming to life, "You want to start from scratch?! It isn't like you hurt our feelings, Faith! You killed people! You almost killed Angel, and almost got Buffy killed in the process!"

Angel flinched noticeably at the memory. Faith looked as though she wanted to disappear into the chair. Some part of her wished suddenly that she had brought Riley, after all. But Willow wasn't near finished. Incensed, the redhead leapt to her feet.

"I could stand here all night and never be finished listing all the things you've done, Faith! You've done unforgivable things to each and every person in this room!" she looked over at Anya, "Okay, except Anya."

"The Ascension made me have to run away," Anya corrected Willow, "I lost my apartment. That was at least partly her fault."

The men in the room turned to give her a funny look. Anya shrugged and turned her attention back to her coffee cup.

"I don't know if this is really a "Clean Slate" sort of situation, Faith," Xander commented gently.

"I don't know either," Faith agreed, leaning wearily back into the chair, "All I know is that I have to do something. And. I want you guys to know, no matter what I did before, I don't mean anyone any harm now. You all don't have to forgive me -- I totally understand that. But I am sorry for everything I've done."

Silence fell heavily over the room when she finished her heartfelt speech.

Angel sighed, breaking the quiet. "Faith, I honestly don't think this is something that can be solved in one night," he said, leaning his forearms on his knees, showing he didn't fear her by leaning closer, "But... I am interested in finding out what's happened to you since you woke from your coma. How you ended up with Riley."

"Yeah, I mean. He's kind of a dinkus," Anya said, "I would have thought Spike."

The others ignored her.

"I woke up about a month ago, and he was just there," Faith replied, focusing squarely on Angel and his question, ignoring the others. "I guess he volunteered at the long-term care ward. And when they wanted to release me, I had nowhere else to go. He took me in."

"Does he know about your past?" Giles queried.

Faith nodded. "I told him everything."

"You did WHAT?!" Willow barked, "You told him about Buffy? And Angel?"

"Well, yeah." Faith told her, "I didn't want to lie to him."

Everyone seemed to freeze.

"That probably wasn't a good idea," Angel mumbled.

************************************************

Buffy was dreaming. It had to be a dream.

It was a bright, sunny afternoon, and she and Angel were walking hand-in-hand in the woods just outside of town. He was speaking to her in Gaelic -- she couldn't understand a word of it, and yet she seemed to know what he was talking about anyway, and it soothed her.

"I know," she said to him when he was quiet again, "I can feel it."

The part of her that stood back from the dreamscape, watching, had no idea what was going on. She watched as Angel stopped walking, and lay a hand tenderly on either side of her face. As soon as they made contact, his fingers began to glow, as though someone had turned on a pink flashlight under his skin. The light didn't hurt -- in fact, it started a tingling of love and desire in her toes, which quickly flowed into her bloodstream, warming her entire body in an instant. She felt compelled to echo the gesture, and captured Angel's face in her own hands. A similar glow began at her fingers, completing the circuit that his touch had begun. In a moment, both of their bodies were enveloped in the warm light. It rushed through her like fire, making her very bones vibrate. Uncomfortable, but not unpleasant. Although his hands remained on her face, she could suddenly feel Angel everywhere -- on her and inside her -- as if he had become part of her body. As though he was making love to her, and their spirits were merging.

Buffy gasped aloud at the vivid sensation of their bodies and souls melding. She could suddenly see Angel's mind. Pictures of her. Visions of their many physical unions. Thoughts of her beauty, her strength. His love and admiration for her. Not to mention the blazing heat of a seemingly bottomless lust. It was as though Buffy was seeing into his soul for the first time, and she rejoiced to find herself there.

Soon, the watcher in her dream could no longer see the two beings that had been standing on the wooded path. In fact, there was no longer a path, or a forest, at all. There was only the rose-colored light, all around and in her.

'Your soul and mine, until time ceases to be.'

The incantation rocketed through her like the sensation of his cool touch, causing her sleeping body to tense and shudder. She had visions of a million moments they had shared. And others, more muddled and blurry, of the present, and what had yet to be. Buffy cried out as their connection seemed to physically penetrate her, shooting her into a sudden and unexpected orgasm.

When her breathing returned to normal and Buffy opened her eyes, she expected to be looking up at Angel smiling down at her. She loved being wakened with slow, sweet sex, even if there was also some freaky soul stuff going on.

But she was alone in the bed. She sat up and looked around the dark room.

"What the hell was that?" she asked the shadows.

*********************************

"So, Riley knows that you and Buffy are... Are Slayers," Giles said.

Angel gasped suddenly, and closed his eyes. The others, Faith included, stared at him.

"Angel, are you okay?" Willow asked fearfully.

He opened his eyes once again, to find the others' faces dark with concern. He felt it himself -- what was that? He'd felt an almost overpowering orgasmic sensation throb though him, accompanied by an echoing shout that sounded distinctly like Buffy. He found himself instantly aroused, confused, and frightened.

"I... I'm fine," he insisted weakly.

Xander and Willow exchanged a look.

"Are you sure?" Giles asked, "You look... Flushed." The ex-Watcher could barely believe it, considering Angel had no living circulation, per se, "Can I get you something?"

Angel shook his head. "No, really. I'm fine," he repeated, "Probably just tired." He wanted to leave, now, and find out how Buffy was doing. The urge to be with her right at that moment was almost overpowering.

"Perhaps we should... Let this go until another time," Giles suggested.

"Everybody's tired," Willow noted. Even with all of Faiths' seemingly heartfelt reassurances to the contrary, she was still afraid, and unconvinced that her sudden reappearance wasn't a portent of something horrible about to happen. And the fact that Riley knew about all of it? Angel, Buffy and Faith, the Hellmouth... There was no way Willow could see that this could be anything but bad.

"Yeah. I better go," Faith agreed. She didn't know what she'd been expecting from this meeting. And with Buffy absent, she wasn't certain they'd gotten anywhere at all. But, at least no one had tried to kill her, capture her, throw her out on the street and/or call the police. She took that as a good sign, and got up. "You guys don't have to worry about Riley. He won't tell anyone."

No one responded, so she shrugged and headed for the door.

"Faith?" Xander called after her. She turned to look at him, trying to ignore Willow and Anya's matching glares. "I'm glad you came. If I can do anything to help..."

His offer was interrupted by Anya's empty coffee cup hitting him in the back of the head with a dull "thuck!"

"OW!" he shouted, covering the back of his skull defensively with his hand, and turning to look at his now-enraged girlfriend. "I meant in a purely NON- sexual way!" he insisted.

Anya continued to glare at him.

"Thanks, Xander," Faith spoke sincerely, and left.

************************************

Riley watched the entire meeting from a side window, out of anyone's line of sight. When Faith got up to leave, he quickly sprinted into the bushes and started heading back toward his house. She would wonder why if he wasn't there when she got home.

This was far worse than he thought it would be. Buffy's friends, including the vampire, now knew that he knew their secrets. It wouldn't be long before they found out the rest of it, too. His feelings for Faith aside -- The Initiative had to do something, now. The slow, easy pace of Plan A was about to crumble around their ears. Time for Plan B. With a dull pang of guilt and regret in his chest, he pulled his radio out of his belt.

"Base, this is Lilac. Agent Finn to base."

"Go ahead, Lilac."

"I need a retrieval team at the following coordinates, ASAP."

************************************

Buffy tried to go back to sleep. She tried watching television. She even tried pacing from one end of the mansion to the other, as Angel often did when he was upset or restless during the day. She wondered if it ever really made him feel any better, because it certainly wasn't helping her.

Something weird was going on. Her body had been tingling with an alien electricity ever since her dream that evening. Buffy knew from experience that her dreams shouldn't be ignored. Bad things tended to happen if she did.

Of course, bad things sometimes happened whether she ignored her dreams or not, so...

Either way, she needed to find Angel. More than one person could be out on patrol at a time, right? She grabbed her coat and crossbow, and headed for the door.

**************************************

Faith walked slowly, head down. She wasn't looking for trouble, exactly, but she wasn't not looking for it, either. The lack of closure at the Scooby Gang meeting left her restless and wired -- not good things to be if you're a recovering psychopath, she imagined. But she was, technically, still a Slayer, and if she got jumped by some hyper demon, it was her sworn duty to trounce it with everything she had. She kept her head down and tried to radiate "helpless victim" vibes.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the familiar tingling in her gut. Aha! Vampire! Exactly what she had been hoping for. She wished she had a stake, but Hell, she could always break a branch off of one of the trees that lined the sleepy street. Faith spun to face her opponent.

When she saw Angel's cautious approach, she couldn't help but be a little disappointed.

"Hey," she said to him.

Angel came and began walking beside her, "Hey. You know, you shouldn't walk alone at night. It's not safe."

Faith cocked an eyebrow at him. "I know, vampires, right?"

Angel chuckled, "Nasty things. And there's never a Slayer around when you need one."

She shot him a look of sheer surprise. "Did you just make a joke?"

With a small smile, Angel shrugged and kept walking.

"Why are you being so nice to me? Out of this whole bunch, you have the most to hate me for."

Angel looked at her. "I know how you feel, that's all."

Faith had no idea how to respond, so she cast her eyes to the ground.

"I've done far worse things than you could ever even imagine, Faith. And if you don't deserve a second chance, why should I?" he added.

She stopped. "What do you mean?"

Angel stopped also, and looked at her seriously. "I'm talking about second chances, and third, and fourth. I'm talking about redemption. About giving back things you've taken. I have a century of evil to make amends for, Faith. Hundreds of lives that I took in cold blood. For sport. If I deserve the benefit of the doubt for wanting to repay my debts, then I think you do, too."

Faith looked confused for a moment, then almost smiled. "Yeah, but Buffy was ready to forgive you. The only thing she's ready to do to me is put a bullet in my head."

"Don't be so sure about that. She's upset," Angel argued, "And besides, Buffy isn't the last word on justice. She's not The Powers That Be," he said, "She doesn't get to say who does and who doesn't get a second chance."

Faith snorted bitterly and resumed walking. "She's the Slayer. That's a lot of pull."

"Maybe for some of us," Angel said, "But she doesn't have the power to veto decisions that you make about your own life. Only you can do that."

His words touched her, and she was ashamed to find she was almost crying. Imagine--A vampire, making her cry.

"Again with the wisdom," she said sadly, "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you'd already forgiven me for all the shitty stuff I did to you."

"I have," he confirmed simply.

That elicited another shocked expression from Faith, but she didn't reply.

"I'm here for you, Faith, if you need to talk. I understand where you're coming from. I've been where you are -- homeless, friendless, nowhere to turn, weighed down by regret and guilt so heavy and dark, you can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. But I promise you it's there. You may never be able to make up for everything you did, but you can stand tall in the knowledge that you tried. And that you turned your life around. The most important thing is for you to know that you are savable. You can be worthy of forgiveness. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

Faith kicked at some small stones and glanced at Angel out of the corner of her teary eye, "Jeez, you're pretty handy with the pep talk, huh?" she said lightly, "No wonder Buffy loves you so much."

He smiled. "Yeah, well... I got lucky."

Faith was about to tell him that it wasn't luck -- that he had earned his relationship with Buffy, and that he had worked hard to redeem himself in her eyes, and the eyes of the world, and that she admired him for it. But she never got the chance. Without warning, Faith felt a jolt of electric shock burn through her system, and the world went black.

************************************

Buffy was halfway through Sunny Rest when the pain hit her -- sharp, hot, like an electric shock. Clutching her chest, she doubled over, suddenly needing to gasp for air. Another, duller pain followed, this one making her skull feel fit to crack open. She yelped in pain and fell to her knees, scrambling with her quickly fading consciousness to sense what was attacking her. Her blurry sight saw nothing. Sensed nothing, nearby. The pain continued.

Now she was really scared. Buffy struggled to get up and staggered forward, the world spinning dizzily around her. Her stomach lurched and another pounding blow to the back of her head sent her to her knees once again. Clutching the headstone beside her, she vomited violently into the grass.

The tingle of her Vampire Warning System barely registered through the blinding haze of pain that wracked her mind and body, but she managed to keep her head enough to speak.

"Angel? Please! Help me!" She yelped at the formless shadow approaching.

Spike crouched down beside her. "You goody-goodies never do learn how to hold your liquor."

The Slayer gasped desperately for air, but still managed to glare up at him. She was white as a sheet, which was strange enough in its own right, but she also seemed to waver every few moments as if someone were hitting her. That was even more frightening, to Spike, considering he couldn't see who or what might be pounding on her.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Please! Help me!" she repeated, looking up at him with panic and pain in her eyes, "Something's wrong. OH GOD!" Buffy doubled over again, clutching her head. Spike could smell the blood that spurted out of her nose before he saw it.

He was completely at a loss for what to do. He didn't even want to touch her, just in case it was communicable. "What's going on? Are you possessed or something?"

"I DON'T KNOW!" she screeched. The pain in her body began to ease again, but the crippling nausea remained. Black spots floated before her eyes, and she felt herself going numb, "Spike. Get me to Giles," she gasped, and passed out.

Spike stared at her for a moment, then reached down to check her pulse. Strong and even -- damn. He would have been willing to bet that even after death, Slayer blood would still be a tasty, satisfying magickal treat.

"Oh well," he said, resigned to a life with nothing but blood bags in its future, and unceremoniously scooped the Slayer up and over his shoulder, heading for the Watcher's house.

*****************************************

Giles read to distract himself, once all the children had left. Old Emma had shipped reams of photocopied legends, spells and histories of her people, both Gypsy and shape-shifters, each obviously rare and valuable, and probably from what must be an impressive private collection. She had also enclosed a brief, friendly letter expressing her affection and regards for everyone, and her wishes that they were all safe and happy.

//Which they are... for now.//

He was particularly fascinated by the material on soul magick. The Gypsies had an uncanny understanding of the human life force and its many uses. There was information on curses that Giles (and Jenny, he recalled sadly) had thought long lost. He read the background information on the soul-binding they had performed on Angel-- It seemed that its resulting power and side effects were many and varied. Some seemed particularly handy --telepathy, far sight, and the sharing of various other psychic powers between the bound parties. Others were more likely to be problematic-- the well-being of each being dependent on that of the other, for example.

Giles wondered if Buffy and Angel had experienced any of these side effects as yet. He would have to remember to ask the next one of them that he saw.

*******************************************'

Faith woke in Riley's bed, her head pounding, and with no memory of how she'd gotten there. In fact, there was no sign that anything had happened that night at all, but for the vague tingling of electricity that still rode her raw nerve endings.

After a moment, the earlier events returned in a painful rush. Who the Hell had jumped her? And how did she end up back here? Had Riley saved her? What happened to Angel?

"Oh, god." she moaned at the thought of her single ally. What if Riley had mistaken Angel for a hostile vampire? Was he okay? He was, currently, the only person who had even an inkling of understanding and compassion for her situation. It would be horrible if something happened to him because of her.

She got up out of bed, and almost fell. Her legs felt like jelly, and her stomach plummeted, as though she was drunk. She wobbled unsteadily to the door, and turned the doorknob.

It was locked. From the outside.

"What the fuck?" she said to it.

 

*******************************************

Spike kicked in Giles' door and barreled into the living room, shouting his Sire's name, and then the Watcher's.

Giles got up out of bed, threw on his robe, and ran down the stairs.

Spike stood in the middle of the living room with Buffy hanging limp in his arms, her mouth slack and her eyes rolled back in her head. She was sweating profusely, and her face, chest, and most of Spike's front were covered with blood and vomit.

"MY GOD!" the ex-Watcher exclaimed, running to them, "What happened? Bring her upstairs."

Spike complied, biting back a scathing complaint about his very expensive coat being ruined. Whatever the Slayer had gotten herself into, his coat certainly didn't deserve to be punished for it. He plunked Buffy down on Giles' bed, and the human began taking her pulse, checking her eyes, and inspecting her body for wounds. As he attended her, the Slayer began to stir again, moaning and thrashing in pain. Suddenly, she screamed Angel's name, and sat bolt upright.

"Buffy! What's happened to you?" Giles asked frantically, "Were you attacked?"

Buffy's eyes flew from Spike's face to Giles', but she didn't seem to see either of them.

"Angel!" she moaned again, and fell back to the pillows, panting.

"Spike, what happened to her?" Giles snapped at the vampire that stood in the doorway, then got up and headed to the bathroom.

"How the Hell am I supposed to know? I found her puking her guts out in the cemetery," he told the Watcher, grabbing handfuls of Kleenex from the nightstand and mopping at his ruined coat with dismay. It stank like blood, pain, and misery. It was making him hungry. "I thought maybe she'd... You know. Downed one too many."

Giles returned with a damp cloth and a small trashcan, and took his seat beside Buffy once more. He gave Spike a dark look.

"There were no creatures that you could see?"

Spike shook his head, "I ran into a couple of Fioral demons earlier, but that was by the docks. Sunny Rest was empty when I found her," he answered.

Giles carefully removed Buffy's coat and began to gently wipe the blood from her.

"There are no wounds," he observed aloud.

"I could have told you that," Spike said.

*******************************************

Pain. Sharp, shooting agony through his veins. Voices, murmuring all around him. Bright light burning the peaceful darkness behind his eyelids. He growled instinctively.

"He's coming to. Get me another 100 cc's of Xynaphan," one of the strange voices said. A needle pinprick in his arm, sending another shooting pain through him where it pierced the skin, followed closely by a soothing numbness.

But the men didn't wait long enough before resuming whatever it was they had been doing. A shocking pain rocked through him, and Angel screamed.

 

*******************************************

Faith didn't waste any time pondering her fate or pacing her prison. She listened for voices outside the bedroom door, and hearing none, kicked it open. If someone (Riley, she thought with a twinge of pain in her heart) was trying to keep her captive, they should have been more careful.

She crept out into the hall, looking left and right, then moved swiftly toward the stairs. Peering over the railing, she wasn't surprised to find that no one seemed to be home. Everyone would be in class, or whatever the Hell a bunch of meathead college boys did during the day.

Before she could take the first step, Forrest appeared from the kitchen, carrying a rifle and a sandwich. Okay, Faith didn't know much about college life, but she was fairly certain here wasn't a class at UC Sunnydale that required a semi-automatic. He passed the stairs without noticing her, and she followed.

Forrest walked down a hallway Faith herself had traveled a hundred times in the month that she'd lived in Lowell House. He stopped at the full-length mirror near the end and held his hand up to it. Faith ducked into the nearest doorway so he wouldn't see her reflection sneaking up beside him, and practically jumped out of her skin when she saw the mirror slide away and reveal a staircase she was certain she hadn't seen before.

He marched in and down the stairs, and Faith ducked in behind him before the door slid shut.


	6. Deliver Me

By dawn, Buffy had fallen into a restless sleep. She whimpered and cried out every now and again, but she had stopped vomiting, and the blood flow from her nose had finally ceased.

Giles closed the bedroom door behind him as he left and went down the stairs to join Spike in the living room. The vampire sat quietly on the couch, nursing a mug of blood.

"Is she dead then?" he asked as the Watcher approached.

Giles sighed, "No, thank God. Did you try Angel again?"

Spike nodded. "No answer. Wanker hates cell phones, you know. Probably turned it off."

"We need to find out what's happened to Buffy. I was hoping perhaps Angel would know," Giles said, mostly thinking aloud as he collapsed wearily into his chair.

"I tried the mansion, too. My wayward sire apparently never made it home." the vampire added.

Spike's supposition made Giles tense with sudden realization, remembering Old Emma's notes on bound souls. He jumped up and grabbed the enormous binder he had put them in, and frantically began looking for a passage he vaguely recalled skimming the night before. Something about telepathic ties and the sharing of pain.

****************************

Willow hung up the phone and looked at Tara.

"There's no answer," she said worriedly.

Tara shrugged. "Maybe they went out."

Willow gave her a look, nodding toward the morning sun streaming in through the windows.

"Oh. Right. Vampire," Tara said, "So where do you think they are, then?"

"I don't know," Willow replied, "But considering Angel left with Faith last night? I'm thinking it's something a lot less fun than IHOP."

Tara frowned, "Maybe you should call Giles."

"Yeah," Willow said, and picked up the phone once more, "I was just thinking that."

****************************

Faith had been in a lot of different kinds of institutions in her life, but she'd never seen anything even remotely like this. The stairwell opened into an enormous; perfectly white room lined wall-to-wall with glass-fronted cages.

Of course, no juvenile home or hospital she'd ever seen was packed to the gills with captive demons. Various soldiers in khaki and camouflage and scientists or doctors in long white lab coats wandered about the cavernous area, observing the caged creatures and taking copious notes.

Was this some kind of demon prison? And why the Hell was it built under Riley's frat house???

Two labcoats started in her direction, and Faith ducked down a nearby passage to avoid their notice. Once they were gone, she turned to look down the hallway behind her. More cages lined this corridor, but each one of these held a vampire. Some paced their cells, some lay motionless on the floor, and some sat staring catatonically into space.

Faith's gut was clenched up into painful knots from being near so many monsters at once. She fought for breath as she walked slowly down the hall, looking carefully into each cage, until she found what she was looking for, but some part of her had been hoping she wouldn't find.

Angel lay, naked and curled into the fetal position in the very back corner of his cage, shivering so hard she could see it even in the dim light. Faith took a good look at the door, and realized woefully that it was electrified. What would she do even if she did get him out? It was the middle of the morning, and she had no idea how to access the sewer system from here.

He looked awful. Every inch of his muscular body seemed to be covered with bruises, welts, gouges, and burns that oozed and bled freely into a coagulating puddle on the floor around him. What the hell had these bastards been doing to him?

"Angel," Faith whispered loudly, "Angel, can you hear me?"

For a moment, he didn't respond. Faith cursed to remember that there was no way to tell if he was still "alive" in his usual sense, unless he woke up. He was so badly injured that he appeared to have forgotten all about breathing. But, he wasn't a big pile of dust, so that was definitely in the positive column for his survival.

After a moment, he opened his eyes, and struggled to lift his head to look at her. His effort failed, and his skull hit the floor with a dull thud. His eyes, however, stayed focused on Faith, and as filled with fear and pain as they were, she could still see anger blazing beneath. She didn't bother asking if he was okay. The answer was already pretty apparent.

"Don't worry, Angel. I'm going to get help," she promised, wishing she could do something more. something, at least, to ease his pain, "I'll get Buffy."

It was all she had to give him. He seemed unable to respond, and only kept his pained gaze on her as she turned, already feeling guilty for having to leave him there, and began making her way quietly back upstairs.

****************************

"Where could they have gone?" Tara asked for what had to be the tenth time in the short walk from Stevenson Hall to Lowell House.

"Unless something bad happened, they shouldn't have gone anywhere," Willow repeated the same answer.

"But you think they might be at Riley's."

"No. But Angel left with Faith last night. Faith lives with Riley. Ergo, Riley might be able to find out if Faith knows what happened to Angel," she explained.

"Ah," Tara said, and fell silent as they climbed the front steps of Riley's house.

Willow jumped at the sound of the loud bell in spite of herself, and the door opened before it had even finished chiming. Riley looked down at her, his face tired and angry. The expression disappeared in a moment, and was replaced with a polite smile.

"Willow," he said, "Hi. What can I do for you?"

"Is, um. is Faith here?" Willow asked tentatively.

Tara hung back, instantly uncomfortable with the weird energy radiating off Riley. The frown he had originally opened the door with quickly returned.

"No," he replied flatly, "She never came home last night."

Willow stared at him for a long moment. Did he know where Faith had gone the night before? How much of what the Slayer had told them last night was true? What if Riley didn't know anything about her past at all?

"Uh. oh. Um. do you have any idea where she might have gone?" she muttered, trying to sound cool, and knowing she failed miserably. She knew she would never make it as a detective, or as anything else that required she lie or pretend to be something she wasn't. Willow just wasn't good at pretense.

"No," he said, "And frankly, I don't think I care." He slammed the door in their faces without another word. Willow turned around to face Tara again.

"This is definitely bad," she told the blonde.

****************************

Once outside, Faith didn't have time to bother with subtlety or stealth. She had no idea how long it might be before Riley or one of the other. what, soldiers?. in the house discovered that she was gone and sounded the alarm. For the first time in almost a year, she ran at full, flat-out Slayer speed -- a blur to any human she might pass on the way.

She reached Giles' apartment in minutes, and didn't bother to knock. She crashed through the front door and only came to a screeching halt when she was suddenly face to face with some bleached-blond guy she didn't recognize.

They looked at one another.

"Who the Hell are you?" they asked simultaneously.

****************************

Riley stiffly climbed the stairs to his room. This whole situation had gone far beyond not good. If Buffy found out they were holding her boyfriend prisoner, who knew what her response might be? Best case scenario: she called the police. Of course, that was highly unlikely -- what would she say to them? 'Hi, I'm a super-human demon hunter and my vampire boyfriend's been kidnapped by a top-secret government supernatural research group'? He was thinking not. More probable, she would amass an army of her own, and get him out herself. Which would, of course, be equally bad.

Besides, there was no way Buffy could really know any of those things. Chances were, she would blame Faith for Angel's disappearance, and since Faith was innocent of having anything to do with it, none of the facts would ever need to get out at all. He didn't believe that Willow had suspected a thing at the door -- he had simply acted like an infuriated and worried boyfriend, ready to call his relationship quits when his lover didn't return home from a night out with her friends. A more than reasonable assumption.

Their only task now was to disappear before any untoward questions could be asked. The Initiative would have no trouble hiding them, or the installation itself, even from the nosey eyes of a Slayer. He would get himself and Faith packed right now, and have personnel begin making the arrangements. Maybe they could move back east, and start a life together. maybe it wouldn't matter that she was one of The Initiative's test subjects -- so long as she was never really threatened, she would never have to know. And the government's scientists could still keep their eye on her under the guise of psychotherapy, if they needed to. All he had to do was convince Faith that there was nothing for her to gain in Sunnydale -- that her meeting with Buffy's friends was only a slight indication of the more difficult conflicts to come. He didn't think it would be too hard.

Riley reached the end of the hall and froze in his tracks -- his bedroom door, which he had secured before leaving for debriefing early this morning, hung wide open, the lock shattered.

Riley pushed it open the rest of the way, and found his worst fear confirmed -- Faith was gone.

He hesitated for a moment. He should immediately call in for a lock down and retrieval team.

The Slayer was an important subject to the Initiative, and if she escaped, all they had worked so hard for could quickly and irrevocably be lost.

Riley paused. This was Faith, he thought, not just some lab rat. She was a woman, a human being, with feelings and dreams and regrets. What right did he, or the government, have to take her rights away for "the sake of science"? Or even the sake of humankind, for that matter.

Special Agent Riley Finn disobeyed a directive central to his duty, thus committing an offense worthy of a court-martial. He waited a full five minutes before he called in Faith's escape.

****************************

"They've got Angel!" Faith shouted at Giles, "We have to get him out!"

"What. who has Angel?" he asked the hysterical girl.

"The guys at Lowell House -- Riley's friends. They've got some kind of."

"Underground lab," Spike mused absently aloud, then looked at Slayer and Watcher again, "I'm familiar with the place."

Faith squinted at him. "You still haven't told me who the hell you are. Although I got the vampire part."

Spike grinned. Were all Slayers so irresistibly hot? Power flowed off of her in waves, and made him shiver in spite of himself. He reached out a pale hand.

"Name's Spike. I assume you're Faith."

Faith looked at his hand with obvious distaste, but didn't take it. She turned back to Giles.

"Where's Buffy?"

****************************

'Help me.'

Buffy could barely hear his voice through the terrible pounding in her head. Still mostly unconscious herself, she struggled to reach out tentative psychic fingers toward the weak sound.

'Angel? Where are you? What's happening?'

There was no response from the phantom figure of her lover somewhere far away -- all that came from him was deep pain. She knew in her bones that it was Angel. her body responded to his presence in her mind as keenly as if he was lying right beside her. Once again, she reached out, and both the tingling and the pain increased as she came closer to him.

'Angel. Love, where are you? What's wrong? Are you hurt?'

A new pain ripped through her, snapping her wide awake in an instant, and leaving her listening to the echo of his screams in her head.

'Buffy, HELP ME!'

****************************

 

Faith glared at Spike as she examined him. "Don't you think these guys already have enough vampires?" she asked snidely.

He smiled at the testiness in her voice. My, but she had a fine scowl.

"I'm an ally by default," he informed her.

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

Giles hung up the phone. "Willow isn't home. Xander and Anya are on their way," he turned and looked at Faith, "Does Riley know you've gone?"

"I don't think so," she replied, "He hadn't come home from class yet when I got out." Then she felt her skin crawl with the vampire's continued gaping. "Could you stop looking at me? Before I have to poke those pretty grey eyes out of your head," she said sweetly, with as deadly a smile as she could muster.

Spike grinned stupidly at her.

"YOU!!!" Buffy screamed, appearing suddenly on the staircase. Before the others could even turn to look at her, she vaulted the handrail and dove for Faith, knocking the woman clear out of her chair and on to the floor. Buffy knelt on her chest and mercilessly rained powerful blows on her unprotected face. "I'LL KILL YOU!!! WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM? WHERE IS HE?"

Faith struggled against her attacker. She outweighed her sister Slayer by a good 20 pounds, but Buffy more than made up for it in strength. There was no escaping from this. Faith barely raised a hand to protect herself as she accepted her punishment. Buffy continued to beat her, screaming demands to know what she'd done with Angel.

In their shock, no one noticed Xander and Anya's arrival, nor Willow and Tara's a few moments later. They all stood frozen in the foyer, watching Buffy overpower and pummel Faith.

Finally, Giles and Xander seemed to come to their senses once again, and teamed up to drag Buffy bodily off of Faith. Spike stood by, chuckling with amusement.

"Buffy, stop this!" Giles choked as she elbowed him square in the stomach.

Buffy stopped. She knew the two men couldn't stop her if she really wanted to kill Faith (and she did), but she couldn't get out her frustration and rage until the younger girl told them where she had taken Angel and why he was in so much pain.

"SHE HAS TO TELL ME WHAT SHE DID TO HIM!!!" Buffy screeched, still struggling to reach the other woman.

Xander and Giles didn't let her go, but all eyes turned to Faith. She looked distinctly like a deer caught in the headlights -- her eyes wide, and streams of blood pouring down her face, dripping off her chin and puddling on the collar of her sundress.

Spike could barely keep himself from drooling. This Slayer was magnificent -- twice the woman as Buffy, fierce and free and full of barely restrained rage and fire that he could almost smell just beneath her skin. Something he could smell -- her blood, sweet and strong with deadly magick, drove him to forget to breathe as he stared at her.

Faith stood tall, not bothering to wipe her face.

"I know where Angel is. But I swear, I would never do anything to hurt him."

****************************

Angel woke once again, glad to find he was healed enough to be curled up in the far corner of the cell rather than having to lay prone in the middle of the floor. What kind of place was this, where they would just kidnap a man off the street and torture him?

Of course, he wasn't a man, as far as these people knew. He managed to straighten his aching spine against the wall, and gave thanks for what was not the first time that he was a vampire, because even these morbid injuries would eventually heal, and he would live to fight another day. If he was human, or some other, less durable creature, he would most certainly already be dead.

The problem was that the only thing he could do for now was lie there and rest. And he would need to feed, if he wanted to heal properly. His eyes ticked over to the neat, clean hospital bag of pure, fresh plasma on the floor nearby. He could smell it, even through the thick plastic. It would be drugged, no doubt, and once they rendered him fully unconscious, there was no telling what they might do. Slice him open like the "physicians" of old, perhaps, searching for the seat of his soul.

No. If it were a choice between hunger and senselessness, he would choose the former and the slower healing. He wanted to be alert and ready when the others came for him.

Angel took a deep breath, and immediately felt more fully revived. He didn't need oxygen, but it still acted as a sort of fuel for his tired body. He repeated the gesture, and felt his shattered ribs begin to pull tight as they mended. When the pain eased some, he cleared his mind, and reached out along the link with Buffy he had discovered when he was unconscious.

It was easy to find her -- her fear, panic, and rage glowed across the astral plane like a beacon. He was glad he had spent so many years practicing meditation; it made concentrating through his pain easier.

'Ionúin.' he spoke softly, 'I'm here.'

Buffy's rage flickered out like a candle in the wind.

'Angel?'

'Yes.'

'Oh, god! Where are you? What did she do to you?'

Buffy clearly thought that Faith had been the one to take him.

'She didn't. They took her, too. She's one of their experiments.'

'Experiments? I don't understand. Did they. did they hurt you?' Before he could respond, he felt gentle psychic hands reach out to probe his broken body, 'Oh, god, Angel.'

He tried to keep his mind blank, not wanting Buffy to have to feel his pain. The heat of their connection filled him, and he could feel her power flow into his flesh, speeding his body's already unnaturally quick healing process.

'Buffy, be careful. don't send too much... you need your energy. I'll be alright.'

'Angel, where are you? Who took you?'

'I'm not sure. I think I'm under Lowell House.'

'What... RILEY'S house???'

'He's part of some paramilitary organization that captures and experiments on demons. The chip in Spike's head must be their doing.'

'What did they do to you? I felt you... your pain.' Even in his head, it sounded small and weak. Frightened.

'Don't worry, mo gra. I'll be okay. I'll wait for you.'

Buffy didn't get a chance to ask him what the hell that meant, because the connection suddenly snapped shut from his end.

****************************

The others stared at her in confusion.

"B, are you okay?" Faith asked.

Buffy blinked. "I don't... what just happened?" Had she really been talking to Angel, or was it all in her head? She couldn't get the feeling of his pain out of her mind.

"You had some kind of fit," Anya told her, "Eyes rolling back, drooling, the whole bit."

"You tell us what happened," Xander suggested.

Buffy looked at him, then around at the others, finally ending with Faith.

"I could feel Angel. Feel what they were... doing to him. I heard him screaming, in my head. What's going on?" she asked her sister Slayer.

Faith frowned, "Riley took him."

Buffy's face quivered with rage. "This might not be your doing," she spat at the brunette, "But it's still your fault."

Faith bravely met her gaze. "I know. I want to help you get him back."


	7. Salvation's First Light

Riley frowned darkly at the unconscious pile of vampire on the cell floor. He couldn't really have a soul, could he? How could one creature be both human and demon? It went against everything he had ever learned about monsters.

But then, couldn't the same also be asked about Faith? Didn't she contain the capacity for both good and evil? Didn't every human being? Maybe that was what he was finding so hard to accept about all of this: was it the soul that drew the dividing line between the pure and the tainted? Or was it something else entirely? He looked down at the creature that was said to be his enemy, and yet was so clearly someone's beloved, and wondered if he knew.

Angel's eyes snapped open eerily and slowly trained on the uniformed soldier who stood just outside the electrified door. He noticed the boy was holding a dark pile in his hands, and realized with no small measure of surprise that it was his torn and bloodied clothing. He felt his body tense, the starving, injured wild animal inside him immediately alert and ready to tear the man's throat out the moment he opened the door to bring in the clothes.

He struggled against the desperate need to feed. the urge to maim and kill. and finally subsumed it. For whatever reason, Riley seemed to be there to help, and right now, that could only be a good thing. Angel growled involuntarily as the tall blonde stepped into the cell, and cautiously approached with the dark bundle held out. The injured vampire snatched the items from his hands and bared his teeth at him for a moment, before huddling back in the corner, the sweater and slacks clutched against his chest.

Riley certainly hadn't been expecting a 'thank you'. In fact, he was amazed that Angel was able to move or respond at all. But just in case, he backed quickly out of the cell again, and secured the door behind him. He was uncomfortable being so close to such a dangerous creature in the condition Angel was in.

"Don't worry," he said gently, as if speaking to a wounded animal, afraid of spooking it, "I'm going to help you. Just hang tight."

Angel snarled low in his throat, fully in game face, unable to answer.

****************************

"This isn't really very helpful," Tara lamented, looking down at the skeleton map drawn from Faith and Spike's muddled memories of the Initiative.

"We know where everything is." Faith countered.

"Yeah, but we don't know how the Hell any of it works! DAMN IT!" Buffy cursed, slamming a fist on the table in frustration.

"Let me try Riley," Faith suggested.

"NO!" Came a unanimous reply from almost everyone present.

"You can't trust that jarhead! Haven't you figured that out by now?" Spike commented.

Faith glared at the vampire.

There was a tentative knock at the door, and all eyes turned nervously toward it.

"I'll get it," Buffy volunteered, "Faith, cover me."

She didn't notice everyone staring at her in shock at her order, or that the secondary Slayer fell in behind her without a word.

Buffy swung open the door.

"You." she hissed, and punched Riley square in the face. He flew across the garden courtyard like a ragdoll, and crashed into the bushes on the opposite side. He lay in the brush, groaning and rubbing his quickly bruising face.

Faith ran to him, and helped him up. Riley looked down at her woefully. "I'm so sorry, Faith, I didn't know, I swear."

Faith wasn't sure how to respond yet, so she ignored his declaration and led him back toward the house. Buffy stood, red-faced and panting, still blocking the doorway.

Riley pulled his security card out of his pocket and held it in front of the enraged Slayer's face.

"You're going to need this," he told her, "If you want to get Angel back."

****************************

Doyle slammed his head repeatedly against the desk, moaning woefully. Cordelia finally got sick of the sympathetic pain she was getting, watching him bang his head, and threw her bag in the way. The half-demon let his skull come to rest on it.

Wesley came in, carrying their coats. Cordelia looked at him, unsure of what he was doing, until Doyle finally raised his head.

"Sunnydale, here we come," he said forlornly.

****************************

Giles hung up the phone and looked at Buffy.

"Old Emma has confirmed what I suspected. Your soul-tie to Angel has awakened what was once a latent telepathic link between you. You are, indeed, feeling what Angel is feeling. and hearing his thoughts," he said sadly.

Buffy frowned. "His pain," she thought aloud. She had been hoping the sensations that had been overwhelming her weren't really what was happening to him.

"What did you do to him?" She hissed to the couple on the couch. Faith and Riley sat, at least three feet apart, the tension thick in the air between them. Buffy didn't bother directing the question at either of them specifically, since she held both of them equally responsible for what was happening to Angel.

Riley sighed, "They... the doctors... perform threshold experiments, to see how much pain demons can tolerate. How their powers change and react when they're put in danger."

Buffy advanced on him slowly. "Will they kill him?"

The soldier shrugged, trying not to let his fear of this tiny cyclone of rage show.

"Probably not," he answered.

Buffy's eyes narrowed to angry slits; "Probably not?" she spat.

Riley cast his eyes to the carpet, "Not right away," he said, "Angel is too valuable of a sub-GACK!"

His final words were cut off by Buffy's small hand clenching his throat in a deadly vise grip. He gurgled and choked loudly as she squeezed.

"If he dies...if ANY permanent harm comes to him at all. I swear to GOD I will kill BOTH of you. Slowly. And. Painfully. Do you understand?"

Riley nodded weakly and made a more affirmative choking sound. Buffy tossed him back onto the couch like a toy, then turned toward Spike. "You said you saw some Fioral demons last night?"

"Yeah," the vampire confirmed, his tone telling he wasn't sure if he should tell her so.

"They're mercenaries, right?"

"Usually."

"Hire them," she ordered, "We'll need all the muscle we can get. Riley? How can we get Angel out with the least possible problem?"

Riley rose automatically, the events of a moment before already forgotten in the face of a figure in power, giving him orders. He stood behind Buffy, peering at the rough map over her shoulder, and began pointing out possible entrances and exits, then handed her his security card and explained how to use it.

"How are you going to get him out?" Anya queried, "He can't be in very good shape, if they've been torturing him."

Buffy glared at the ex-demon, glad when Xander gave her a rather rough elbow to the ribs.

"I'm just saying." she complained.

"Don't worry. I'll help her get him out," Faith assured them.

Buffy nodded. "Use the computer codes Riley gave you guys, and see how much of the complex you can power down. Riley, when Spike comes back with the demons, I want the two of you to dress in some camos. chain them up, and the two of you can sneak into the complex pretending to bring them in as prisoners. You need to distract the other troops, somehow."

"Walk in and start a fight," Xander suggested, "That oughta distract them."

"Good idea," Riley agreed, "I think we can pull it off."

"There's only one problem with your plan," Tara cut in, "Doesn't Spike have a chip in his head? Can he really fight?"

"That's what the Fiorals are for," Buffy told her. She looked over to Giles. "What did Old Emma say about using the link to track Angel?"

Giles nodded, "She said it's certainly more than possible. At the very least, you can use his pain as a beacon. The only trick is locating him in an actual physical space based on astral patterns. You can also bolster his strength some by sharing your own."

Buffy sighed, "Yeah. We figured that out already."

She reached out for Angel with her mind once more, trying to ignore the dizzying tingle that hit her as she tried to penetrate the thick haze of pain that surrounded him. He seemed to be pulling it around himself like a blanket. why would he do that? If he shared the pain with her, it would be less, wouldn't it?

Of course, that was exactly why he didn't.

'We're coming, my love,' she promised him, 'Please hold on.'

****************************

Once Spike returned with two smelly, grunting, horned demons he'd just hired, they didn't waste any time. All parties involved in the rescue were equipped with weapons, and costumed, then they headed out the door without fanfare, leaving Giles, Xander, Anya, Tara and Willow behind. Willow experimented with the powerdown codes on the Initiative's grid, while Giles and Tara began concocting healing solutions for the inevitable injuries from the battle. Xander read and took notes from several books that Giles had given him, and Anya watched television.

When Cordelia walked in without knocking and saw the strange assembly, she snorted angrily.

"Oh, sure! This just figures. We're right on time for the end of the world. Again," she spun around and glared back at Doyle in the doorway, "You did not mention there was going to be an Armageddon, when you told us about your vision, Doyle!"

He shrugged and grinned sheepishly, "I never got that much detail -- just 'Angel' and 'Sunnydale'."

Cordy scowled.

"Angel's been kidnapped by the government," Anya informed them.

"Them red-coated BASTARDS!" Doyle exclaimed, his good-natured smile immediately disappearing.

Wesley turned a withering glare on the Irishman, "Pardon me?"

Doyle faced him squarely. "Imperialist slime!"

"I do believe we're speaking of the American government, Mr. Doyle, not the Crown," Wesley snapped back.

"Government's government, whoever's in charge," he volleyed, puffing up in the slightly taller man's face.

Xander stepped up to them. "Did you three come to help us get Angel back, or just to bring us your very own rendition of Braveheart?" he barked, handing a pile of books to Wesley, and a bunch of unsharpened stakes to Doyle.

"Hey! You mean you guys already knew Angel was in trouble?" Cordelia asked, offended.

Wesley looked around. "Well, it would appear that is the case. It's noteworthy that Buffy and Spike are absent."

"And Faith.No one here is Faith, right?" Doyle mused aloud.

"No. She's gone with Buffy. Our plan is already in motion," Giles informed them.

****************************

The two Slayers, one soldier, one vampire, and two Fioral demons crouched in the bushes outside of Lowell House with their makeshift map unfolded in the grass between them.

"Riley and Spike, you take the Fiorals down to the entryway on the first sub-basement, here," she pointed to the large open area on the map, "Start a good commotion as soon as the lights go down. Faith and I will head for the cells here, through the back stairwell. We'll all exit through the sewer access, over here, and meet at the first junction at dawn. We can get directly to the mansion from there without being out in the sunlight at all. Everybody clear on what they need to do?" Buffy looked around at each face.

Everyone nodded. Except the Fiorals, who continued to snort and sniff as they watched the bushes.

"Good. Let's do it," she said firmly. Buffy crept off into the brush, with Faith close behind.

"She's one Hell of a woman," Riley observed wistfully as he watched the two Slayers slink away.

"Yeah. Great," Spike snapped, cuffing the smaller of the Fiorals.

"Like to crush. Crush now?" it said, it's voice gravelly, like rocks grinding together.

"Keep your pants on, big guy," Spike answered him, then looked down at the demon's naked form, "Never mind."

****************************

"Okay, that's it. We should get to the mansion," Willow said as she loaded the last jar of healing ointment in the box before her, "I'd say we have pretty much one of everything you could possibly need for healing vampires or humans."

"What about demons?" Anya asked, and was ignored.

"Somebody should stay here, in case they need help," Xander suggested.

"Yes," Giles agreed, "Wesley and I will stay behind. The rest of you will most certainly be needed at Angel's. If there are any problems, call us immediately."

The six young people nodded, and left.

Wesley bolted the door behind them, and sighed wearily. "How do we get ourselves into these things?"

"It's our Destiny," Giles answered automatically from rote. He tapped the laptop's keyboard based on Willow's detailed instructions, and rejoiced to see the first power grid go dark. "AHA!" he exclaimed proudly.

****************************

Riley, Spike and their large "prisoners" had just made it to the main floor when the lights went out. Taking their cue, they released the Fiorals, and began shouting and pushing each other about, giving the demons their own signal -- Crushing Time. The creatures charged into the quickly gathering crowd of soldiers, frothing and spitting, paralyzing anyone that got in their path.

Buffy and Faith were in the stairwell when they were plunged into darkness.

"Shit," Faith said, "I forgot a flashlight."

"It's okay. Angel will lead us," Buffy reassured her.

'Angel.'

Silence from his end of the link.

'Angel, it's me. Sweetheart, wake up.'

When he finally stirred, she felt it -- splitting pain, each inch of his body stinging and burning.

And hunger. Buffy staggered, unprepared for the weight of the sensations, and almost collapsed into tears.

'Buffy?' His voice was weak and barely human.

She took a deep breath to steady herself.

'Angel, we're here. Talk to me. Tell me where you are.'

'Buffy.' He said no more, and she could feel, rather than hear, groans of pain from him. She could practically see his injuries in her mind's eye, and taste the fear and disorientation the hunger created in his mind.

'I know it's hard, love. But I'm coming. Please, stay with me.'

He babbled senselessly, only occasionally speaking English. Buffy was able to follow his pain much more easily than his unintelligible speech.

"This is it," Faith told her.

Buffy flinched, startled by the sudden intrusion of sound. She followed her sister Slayer into the hallway beside them.

She had some night vision, but not nearly enough to tell one creature from another in the total darkness. She closed her eyes and felt for Angel again, listening to the pain that rang in her bones. She followed it, walking down past the row of cages, pausing briefly before each one before she moved on to the next.

"Buffy." It was his voice, choked, from the next cage.

Buffy stopped dead, and whipped out Riley's security card, tearing it through the lock panel and quickly pounding in the security code he'd given her. The door slid open, and she dashed inside, leaving Faith to cover the hallway, one boot-clad foot keeping the cage door from locking shut.

Angel was waiting, propped up against the back wall, fully dressed. He weakly reached up and took the hand she offered him, and collapsed heavily into her arms. Buffy took a moment to clutch him desperately, only pulling away when he yelped in pain.

"Faith! Help me!" she whispered loudly.

The other Slayer took one step inside the cage and positioned herself under Angel's free arm. Every movement seemed to hurt him, and he winced and cried out in spite of his best efforts at stoicism.

"We need to get him fed!" Buffy warned as they dragged the mostly senseless vampire down the hallway, "He's too weak to make it far like this."

The demons in the neighboring cages began to howl in rage, some shouting to be set free, others calling for the Slayers' blood. Alarms and shouting echoed throughout the complex.

Faith didn't look at her. "Let's just get him our of here alive, first. Then we can worry about feeding him. We can carry him together."

The three were shuffling awkwardly past the all-consuming melee in the main corridor just as the lights began to snap back on, exposing them. Several soldiers noticed them, and ran in their direction, guns drawn, ordering them to halt.

"Shit! We're busted!" Faith shouted, but didn't stop running, dragging both Buffy and Angel toward the nearest stairwell.

Spike and Riley saw them, and broke from the battle, Spike ducking, and Riley punching soldiers out of their way as they followed the Slayers. There was no time to worry about their original plan.

The Fiorals were having so much fun; they didn't even notice their employers' escape.

At the first floor landing, Riley stopped at the door and yanked it open.

"Where the Hell do you think you're going, mate?" Spike barked after him, already up the next flight of stairs.

"To get us some insurance," the soldier said, and pushed through the door. "Go with the others. I'll catch up with you at Giles' later!"

Spike didn't like the way the plan was changing one bit. But there was no way in Hell he was going into that house. He turned and followed the others up the stairs toward the waning night.

****************************

Tara completed the circle of salt around Angel's bed, and began chanting softly over it.

"What is she doing?" Cordy whispered to Willow.

"You don't have to whisper," the redhead told her, "and she's setting wards to keep anyone or anything we don't want near Angel, out."

"Do you think he's hurt that bad? I mean, even injured, he's not helpless, right?" Anya asked, hanging a bunch of fresh sage on a tack in the wall.

"Well. from what Buffy said she was feeling." Willow began.

"And what Faith &amp; Riley told you the army guys did." Cordy added fearfully.

Anya nodded. "I think I can take that as a 'yes'."

****************************

"Jesus he's heavy," Faith complained as they dragged Angel out of the sewer entry nearest the mansion. It was nearly dawn, and they needed to hurry. "What the Hell do you feed him?"

"He's dead weight, Kitten," Spike informed her, giving them the last shove they needed to pull Angel all the way out of the manhole. The elder vampire hadn't wakened or moved once during the final part of their escape.

"Fuck you," Faith snapped at him, "And stop fucking calling me 'Kitten'."

"Yes ma'am," Spike grinned, giving her a smart salute.

"Both of you shut the hell up!" Buffy hissed.

"Buffy, look out!" Faith shouted as one of the commandos appeared suddenly in the sewer behind them.

Before Buffy could even turn around, the soldier drew his gun and fired. Faith dove toward Buffy to push her out of the way, and Buffy heard Faith grunt, her flesh tearing with a bloody gush as the two of them fell together into the grass.

Spike kicked the lone soldier in the face, laying him flat. The chip in his brain activated, preventing Spike from further violence against the human as he clutched his head momentarily against the flaring pain, then ran over to the pile of Slayers and vampire. The stench of blood everywhere incensed him, and he heard his supposedly unconscious Sire begin to growl with animal hunger.

"You two better get inside," Spike advised, helping Buffy and Faith up. He took a quick look at the brunette, and was surprised to find himself relieved that she didn't look badly injured at all. "I'll take care of the great poof, here. He hasn't been well-fed, and you too just smell too damned tasty to resist."

Neither looked at him, as Buffy dragged Faith toward the mansion.

Spike glanced woefully at the wonderfully juicy and unconscious human lying near the bushes, and sighed. "You owe me one. Again," he muttered as he hauled Angel up onto his shoulders.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Buffy reads is "The Question" by F.T. Prince.

Even with Spike's help, it took Buffy nearly an hour to get Angel cleaned up enough to put him into bed. He was barely conscious and babbling senselessly for most of the time, and as Spike had so helpfully pointed out, dead weight. Buffy couldn't maneuver him out of his clothes or into the tub by herself. She really hated being forced to enlist Angel's childe to help her, but there wasn't any other choice.

The younger vampire was, of course, full of rude jokes and ribald comments about the situation, insinuating things about himself and Angel that Buffy didn't even want to think about. Usually, Spike's big mouth might have pissed her off, but at that moment, anything to distract her from the feeling of Angel's agony in her head was welcome. She needed to concentrate.

Together they cleaned him and dressed his wounds, and tucked him into the big bed, where he lay utterly still. Buffy was terrified to see him like that. Not even breathing. Not that he needed to breathe, of course, but the lack of his normal habit unnerved her.

Tara and Willow chanted the protective circle around the bed closed, and they joined Xander, Anya, Doyle and Cordelia in the kitchen, where they were busy helping Faith stitch the shallow bullet wound in her left thigh.

The darker Slayer warily watched Buffy's approach, uncertain if helping her rescue Angel, or even if taking a bullet for her, had really calmed any of the tension between them.

Buffy stared at her. considered a hundred things she could say, not the least of which was "thank you", but considering it was Faith's fault that Angel almost died to begin with, she just couldn't bring herself to say anything at all. She turned on her heel and marched back upstairs without another word.

"So much for a ‘Truce of Gratitude’, eh?" Doyle commented.

Faith sighed deeply and shrugged, "I didn't really expect one."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

No longer needed at the mansion, Faith and Spike made their way through the sewer tunnels toward Giles' house.

Faith was sullen, brooding, and quiet. It had become more and more obvious to her that Riley was nowhere near to what he said he was. Which, by default, must mean he didn't mean the things he had said about the way he felt for her, either. The last few months had been all been a lie.

Which, of course, called her entire desire to make amends into question. Was she doing it for Riley? Or for herself, because it was the right thing to do? She didn't know anymore. And she wasn't sure if it mattered. Right now, all she wanted to do was get drunk and sleep. Scratch that. She wanted to beat the All-American smile off that rotten bastard's face, then get drunk, then sleep.

"Ah!" She gasped in pain, stopping to grab her wounded leg.

Spike stopped too, and watched her.

"Something wrong, love?" he asked with a wicked grin. He was almost starting to worry about himself, the way he had a constant need to flash his teeth happily at the bint. What the Hell was wrong with him?

She was doubled over, but she managed to shoot him a glare, "Didn't I tell you to stop calling me that?"

"No, you said to stop calling you 'Kitten'," he corrected her helpfully.

Faith sighed in annoyance and exasperation, bending over farther to wait for the stinging pain to pass. As she did, Spike watched her, lamenting the fact that she was facing him, so he couldn't get a really good look at her magnificent ass. But her hair flipped up, revealing the fine, creamy skin of her neck, which was almost, but not quite, as good.

Then, he noticed the scar. It was tiny, barely noticeable, but he saw it nonetheless.

"Well, I'll be a buggered altar boy," he said, stepping closer and reaching out automatically to touch the familiar mark.

Faith jumped out of his reach, immediately poised in a fighting stance.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" she snapped.

Spike raised his hands defensively, "Not a thing, Kit... Faith. Just seems you and I have a bit more in common from our soldier pals than seething hatred."

She scowled. "What the Hell are you babbling about?"

"Well," he chuckled, "If I'm not mistaken, and I'm not, that little scar on the back of your rather juicy neck is a souvenir a lot like mine."

Faith stared at him, not comprehending.

He leaned close, speaking to her like a stupid child. "A chip, pet. Looks to me like we're a matching pair of Grade A Government Issue Chipheads."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia stood in the bedroom doorway, watching Buffy compulsively check and re-check Angel's bandages. It was almost painful to see... How obviously overcome with worry the usually strong Slayer was. And how still her love lay in the bed, like the dead.

Of course, he was dead, so that wasn't a change. But still. Cordy hated seeing her big, brave boss so broken. Screw the boss bit. Angel was her friend, and seeing him hurt tore her apart inside. She needed to do something! Standing there, helpless and useless after all the times he'd saved her was making her hair all frizzy. And her heart hurt.

She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder, and turned to look into Doyle's crystal blue eyes. Cordelia kept forgetting... There were other people who cared about Angel as much as she did. Who counted on him.

Doyle looked at her tenderly, but said nothing, and nodded back behind them toward the stairs. Cordy let him put his arm around her shoulders and lead her away from the heartbreaking scene.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"This is... Extraordinary!" Wesley exclaimed for the hundredth time, peering more closely at the computer screen.

Giles hit another couple of keys, revealing yet more of the text that Riley had brought them from inside the Initiative. The information was, indeed, extraordinary: filled with detailed missives about the organization's structure, purpose, and operations, as well as a plethora of translated and original prophecies regarding the Slayer and the Hellmouth.

And most immediately pertinent were reports detailing the government's "experiments": behavior modification technology, drugs, and magick, as well as detailed accounts of "species analysis" - the results of what appeared to be many hundreds of hours of torture tests.

Giles stopped when he recognized a name at the top of the next file.

"My God," he whispered.

"What? What is it?" Wesley yipped nervously.

Before Giles could respond, Faith and Spike burst through the basement door. Faith was obviously upset and stood, furiously searching the room with a searing gaze. When her eyes locked on where Riley sat, staring at her, she advanced on him menacingly.

"You USED me! You LIED to me!" she spat, "I thought you CARED about me, you rotten BASTARD!"

Riley stood, dumbfounded. "I do."

"THEN WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!" Faith shouted, and held up her long brown hair to expose the faded rectangular scar on the back of her neck.

Everyone stared at it.

"Oh my God," Wesley breathed.

"That's what I was about to tell you," Giles explained, turning back to read Faith's file on the computer screen.

Spike grinned smugly, proud to have been the one who noticed it in the first place and started all this hoopla. Nothing like chaos to while away the hours after a battle.

"It's a behavior modification chip," Riley admitted, his shame clear in his voice.

Faith let her hair down and took a step closer. "Yeah, I got that! WHAT is it doing in ME?"

Riley hung his head, but said nothing.

"It would appear that the Initiative's doctors diagnosed you as having a psychotic disorder with homicidal tendencies. Their intention was to see if a regimen of behavior modification and psychotropic drugs would cure your symptoms," Giles paraphrased from the file.

Faith glowered, and wound up to punch Riley, but screeched and ended up in a heap on the floor, moaning and clutching her head, instead.

Spike looked down at her. "Looks like you got the same model as me," he observed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy couldn't stop touching him. She checked and rechecked his dressings, despite the fact that she knew they were more for her benefit than for his. Vampires didn't get infections.

She gently pressed a warm cloth to Angel's bruised forehead, using the link to keep an eye on his "life" force, and felt a deep sense of relief to find it growing stronger with each passing moment.

'Buffy...' she could hear him whisper now and again in her mind.

She could tell her presence, both physical and spiritual, comforted him somewhat, even through the dark haze of pain that surrounded him. He sighed and relaxed under her gentle attentions, and Buffy soothed his soul with her own as her hands dealt with his body's other injuries.

Buffy could feel his consciousness sinking deeper, and soon, his end of the link was still. She sat wearily back in the chair beside the bed. She'd fed him as much of her strength as she had to spare and then some. Healing for two was tiring work and she desperately wanted nothing more than to curl up next to him and sleep.

But... until he was well again... Until she was certain he would be okay, Buffy refused to close her eyes.

Her senses were so dulled by lack of rest, she didn't even realize Cordelia had returned, until the tall brunette gave her a gentle touch on the shoulder, which sent Buffy nearly springing out of her skin.

"Hasn't Angel ever told you not to sneak up on people like that?" she snapped, more nasty than she probably should have been.

Cordy frowned. "I didn't sneak. In fact, I practically stomped," she snapped back, "Here, I brought you some tea." She shoved a cup toward the Slayer.

Buffy accepted it gratefully. "Thanks, Cordy. I'm sorry."

Cordelia gave the blonde a weak smile. "It's okay, I guess. I know you're worried," She turned and tenderly looked at the sleeping vampire, "How is he?"

Buffy sighed wearily. "I don't know. He's weak, and quiet. But... I think he'll be okay. I hope he'll be okay."

Cordy looked at her sympathetically. "With all the chanting Willow and Tara are doing? He'll be good as new in no time," she assured her. Then she moved closer to the bed, and reached out to gently touch Angel's face. Buffy felt a momentary pang of jealousy -- she and Angel had gotten to be so close...

But it was gone the moment Cordy said, "I couldn't stand it if anything happened to him. Not after everything he's done for me."

Then Buffy felt guilty. Cordy had lost everything -- her home, her family. How could she fault the woman for caring so much about the one person who would take her in, faults and all, and give her a home and a purpose? She couldn't. Buffy knew too well the effect Angel could have on the people he cared about.

"I know," she replied, "Believe me. I know."

Cordelia gave her a more genuine smile, took one last look down at Angel, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel could see her, in the distance. Feel her essence so far away. He wanted to reach out to her. Bring her closer, but the pain in every inch of his body was too intense. He didn't want her to have to experience it. He held the aching, the tearing, the burning, around him like a cloak of agony, doubling his own discomfort, and ended up crying out for her anyway.

In a moment, the sensation of distance between them was gone, and Buffy was reaching gently through his defenses, her spirit warm and tender against the shards of burning torment that cocooned him.

'I'm here, Love.' he heard her say.

Angel took a deep, shuddering breath, and realized from the shock that it sent through his system that it was probably the first one he had drawn in a while. He felt disembodied, as though the spirit with which he talked to Buffy was no longer part of his shattered shell.

'Am I dead?' he asked her, even his mind's voice breaking.

Buffy chuckled softly... A sound almost like relief. 'Well, technically, yeah. But you're not any deader.'

Not dead, then. Of course, not dead. Dead didn't hurt this much. He wound more tightly around himself, hoping to shield her, but she was having none of it. Her energy poured over him like warm syrup, easily pushing past his weak defenses, and easing all of the power of her love into his wounds.

'You saved me.'

'I had help,' she clarified, caressing him softly both within and without. As senseless as Angel was, he could still comprehend that he had never felt so safe... So comfortable... So completely cared for, in all his life. Not even his own mother had shown him such tenderness. Only Buffy.

'I love you, Ionúin.'

'I love you, my Angel. Rest. I'll be right here.'

'Promise?'

'I promise.'

He drifted back into the cool shadows once more, allowing his Love to guard him and heal him as he slept. Buffy sat back again, glad that this new tie between them allowed her to remain as close as she was, even without having to touch him and irritate his wounds.

Looking slowly around, she saw the book of poetry he had been reading, left on the nightstand. She picked it up, and it fell open automatically to the page he had marked with a crumbling strip of velvet. She read:

"And so we too came where the rest have come,  
To where each dreamed, each drew, the other home  
From all distractions to the other's breast,  
Where each had found, each was, the wild bird's nest.  
For that we came, and knew that we must know  
The thing we knew of but we did not know.

We said then, What if this were now no more  
Than a faint shade of what we dreamed before?  
If love should here find little joy or none,  
And done, it were as if it were not done,  
Would we not love still? What if none can know  
The thing we know of but we do not know?

For we know nothing but that, long ago,  
We learnt to love God whom we cannot know.  
I touch your eyelids that one day must close,  
Your lips as perishable as a rose:  
And say that all must fade, before we know  
The thing we know of but we do not know."

How many mysteries. how many tests would their love comprise? How many Years? Centuries? Moments like this, and others just as difficult, would they be required to face?

It didn't really matter. Whatever came, she knew: that as long as they existed on the same planet together, they would always have a home. Always have a place to come back to; to heal. That was enough. They could deal with whatever came.

Together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Riley quickly prepared to leave, once he was certain Giles and Wesley had a good handle on the files he'd given them. Chip or no, Faith's obvious, barely contained, and righteous fury frightened him. The glares of the others weren't exactly friendly, either, and the vampire kept grinning at him, hovering around Faith like a fangy cat that had stolen Riley's canary. And then ate it.

He approached Giles, who was still engrossed in the materials he had spread out on the table and open on the computer monitor.

"I should go before I'm missed," he ventured to the older man.

Giles got up. "Yes. I imagine that would be best. You've put yourself in considerable peril to help us. I thank you."

The sentiment was cold, but still genuine, and Riley accepted it as such. It was more than he deserved, considering.

The Watcher walked him to the door, but Riley could still feel Faith's hateful gaze searing his back.

"Your best course of action would probably be to spread as many copies of those files around as possible, and make sure the Initiative knows you've done so," he intimated to Giles as he stepped out the door.

"Our plan was to do just that," Giles replied, "If we don't choose to simply expose them. We can't risk things like this continuing to happen."

Riley nodded and stepped out into the afternoon sun. "I'm sorry," he repeated, "Take care."

A moment later, Riley felt a hand on his arm. He turned, surprised to find Faith standing beside him.

"I would kick your ass, if I could," she stated coldly, "Just so you know."

He gave her a small smile. "I know you would." He reached a hand up to touch her face, "I'm so sorry, Faith. I do care about you. I didn't expect to, but I do. And if I had really known what they were doing to you..."

Faith jerked her head away. "Save it for the judge, GI Joe," she spat, and stomped back into the house, leaving Riley staring after her, his heart crumbling in his chest.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Giles said that Riley brought all kinds of files from the Initiative. ’Top Secret’ stuff. He thinks we can use the information for insurance or something," Willow explained to the others as they walked to the Watcher's house.

Anya looked at the little redhead out of the corner of her eye. "Do you really think that'll help? I mean, if your government is in the habit of just snatching demons off the street..."

Xander could hear fear in her voice, and put his arm around her. "Have no fear, Anya my dear. Nighthawk will keep you safe from those nasty commandos."

Willow, Cordy and Anya all rolled their eyes. Doyle guffawed.

"What?" Xander asked, wounded, "I do know how to handle a gun, you know."

"One gun. Hundreds of soldiers, hundreds of guns. That's what we mere mortals call 'impossible odds', buddy," Doyle said, giving Xander a friendly pat on the back. The boy frowned at him.

"Who asked you?" he retorted, pulling Anya closer as he tried not to feel jealous of the half-demon holding his Cordy's hand. No. No. Not his Cordy. He sometimes forgot that, still.

"Well, we could go to the press," Tara suggested.

"Oh, right. And be front page news on the "World Globe" or special guests on "The Daily Show"? That would do wonders for my career," Cordy whined.

Doyle gave her hand a squeeze, "Ah, Princess, you know what they say: 'Any publicity is good publicity.'"

She snorted. "Yeah, if you're in "B" movies. I want to be in "A" movies."

Doyle peered at her, recalling listening to his love practicing her lines --sounding distinctly like a four-year-old who could barely read. But he wasn't about to tell her that.

"We'll figure out something," Willow said, not even close to certain herself.

They could all end up in cages under Lowell House, if they weren't careful.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Buffy stoked the fire in the bedroom hearth, hoping to warm the room against the unseasonable chill that had settled in the air. It was almost as though, without Angel's smile, the sun had disappeared from her world, and took with it all of its warmth.

She moved quietly back to the bed and gazed down upon his sleeping form. He was so beautiful, lying there, even covered as he was in quickly healing wounds. There was something almost glorious about being able to watch the angry skin mend and stitch before her eyes. He was so strong... So powerful...

The possibility of being without him suddenly ripped through her, abruptly overcoming her long-held resolve, and sending her into tears. She laid down beside his still body, curled up on herself, her face close enough to smell his cool scent, and cried.

Almost immediately, Buffy felt Angel's awareness open, and his essence reached out to hers, offering her comfort. She only cried harder to think that, even through his pain, his first instinct was to soothe her.

He didn't seem to wake any further, but struggled stiffly to turn on his side, putting his arms around her, pulling her close. Impossibly close, and Buffy tried to pull away, afraid to hurt him. But she was weak from tears and lack of sleep and so afraid... She couldn't lose him. She couldn't live without him.

Angel's lips found hers automatically, a sweet reflex born of intimate, trusting habit. He kissed her softly, sweetly, at first, allowing his soul to flow softly over the bridge of the place where their skin made contact. Buffy's fear and love melded with his pain and passion, and together, they became a soft, warm, healing desire. Her tongue slid automatically into his bruised mouth, and the well-remembered taste of his blood felled her senses as she touched the wounds inside. She opened the link more fully, and allowed all of her own emotion to wash through.

Angel sighed and pulled her nearer, diving into her mouth with sleepy abandon, drawing the power she offered as a breath into himself. Her aura was like a healing balm, and his hands flowed over her, devouring the soothing electricity that shimmered on her skin.

Buffy's senses reeled. She was suddenly full of him, and yet, still starving for more. His pain was like a dark cloud against the light of her longing, and the two came together, as sunshine might blend with a cloudy sky. There was so much of him she couldn't see... Couldn't reach.

She couldn't stop touching him, no matter how afraid she was of hurting him. Each time her hands or mouth made contact with one of his injuries, she could almost feel it, literally, healing. She let her lips wander, using them as a focus for the energy that pulsed between them, spreading the mending heat with her kisses, down under his jaw. Over his throat. Buffy eased gently down, concentrating on taking her time to touch every inch of him. His back with her hands... His front with her lips.

She worked her way over every torn and strained muscle in his chest, delighting to feel his pain easing and his consciousness sharpening, the haze around his soul dissipating with each soft caress.

'Yesss...' his mind whispered, 'Buffy...'

Angel's hands wound in her long hair as her mouth reached below his waist, finding his penis fully erect despite his continued unconsciousness and wounds.

Pleasure. That was the key. Buffy knew it, suddenly, like a flash. Her touch not only healed him literally by focusing her energy through the link, the sensation seemed to distract him somewhat from the pain of his wounds and the ache of quick healing. Gently, she took him fully into her mouth, sucking and pushing her power through the link simultaneously. He moaned, pulling her face closer, overwhelmed by the mixture of sensations that rocked through him.

Buffy flexed the muscles of her throat in an easy, familiar rhythm, timing her attentions to his response. She brought a hand up to tenderly follow the path of her mouth over his hardness, and felt her own body throb at his pleasure.

As weak and nearly senseless as he was, in combination with the sheer power that the link provided, it wasn't long before Angel began to shudder and pulse in her mouth, whimpering softly in time with her strokes as he came into the back of her throat.

Buffy pulled away and looked up, and almost laughed to see that he was still asleep. But more joyous still, as she reached out to him with her mind, she found she could no longer see his pain. And his sweet lips were turned up in the barest hint of a smile. Most of his skin that she could see looked almost healthy again.

She crawled slowly up to the pillows and laid her head down so she was face to face with him. Angel reached out automatically, with some strength, this time, and wrapped her in his arms, giving her forehead an absent kiss before he went still once again.

Buffy sighed and nestled into his chest, letting his renewed breathing lull her body into badly needed sleep.

Who said sex never solved anything?


	9. Careful

Xander and Willow shook their heads almost in perfect time.

"These schematics are just..." Willow began, uncertain how to describe what she was looking at.

"Gibberish?" Xander finished for her. That was what the electronic circuit board picture thingamajig looked like, to him.

"No... not gibberish, exactly, just... Giles, look at these designs! The circuits follow a very distinct pattern. Actually, two very distinct patterns. I think the commandos were building spells into the wiring of the chips!"

"You mean I'm cursed, too?" Spike wailed, "Bloody Fucking Hell!"

"No... not cursed, exactly..." the redhead went on.

Faith approached her, "Then what, exactly?"

Willow gulped. "Um... well... yours, specifically? It looks like they gave you a bunch of anti-psychotic drugs -- tranquilizers and stuff -- then hard-wired your central nervous system and then programmed you with magick," she replied weakly.

"OH GOD!" Spike bellowed, whacking himself in the forehead, "Please, PLEASE tell me mine's different!" He'd been thinking all along that if he could only get the hardware out of his head, then he'd be back to normal. But if there was magick, too...

The Witch, thankfully, nodded, "The way I'm reading it, the demon chip is mostly electronic."

"Mostly?" Spike moaned.

She shrugged. "At least they didn't pump you full of drugs! I mean, you still feel evil, right?"

All eyes turned to Faith, and Willow blushed, realizing what she'd just said.

"I didn't... mean..." she mumbled.

"No, it's cool," Faith told her without conviction, "I get it. My whole new attitude isn't really mine. It's all drugs and spells. I got it." She moved slowly toward the door, as if she wasn't certain what to do next.

" 'Ere, let me walk you, then," Doyle offered. No need to let the confused psychopath wander off into the night all by herself.

The brunette shook her head. "No. I'm fine. I just... need some air, that's all." Faith closed the door behind her with a soft click that seemed to echo through the uncomfortable silence of the room.

"Where will she go?" Tara asked the others.

"I don't know," Wesley replied, looking at the door with his brow creased in worry.

"Somebody should go after her..." Xander pointed out, and Anya gave him a deadly glare. "But not me," he added.

Everyone seemed to turn to Spike at once. "What? Me? Are you bloody kidding me? Why do *I* always get these jobs? Comforting Slayers, drinking with psychotic demons... What the Hell's next?! "

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay... no signs of chippage... no electrical thingies... but there wouldn't really be any scars... So, it's still hard to tell yet. We'll have to do some tests on him when he's better," Willow spoke into the telephone.

Buffy nodded. "So you think he might have gotten off chip free?" she asked quietly, trying not to wake him. He'd been sleeping on and off for most of three days, barely waking enough to let her feed him before dropping back into still slumber once again. She could easily leave the room for hours at a stretch, and come back to find him in the exact position she'd left him in. The only reason his continued unconsciousness didn't send her into a panic every five minutes was simply because she could reach out and feel him with her mind, and see the warm hum around his flesh as he healed.

"Hopefully..." Willow confirmed, "But Faith..."

"Faith is better off on a leash," Buffy snapped.

"You still don't believe she wants to change?"

"No. Especially not now. If the Initiative isn't controlling her or giving her drugs or whatever, what's to stop her from just falling right back on old habits?"

"You're kidding, right? I mean, she helped you save Angel! She took a bullet for you!" Willow reminded her, "Doesn't that count for anything?"

Buffy frowned. "Stop it, Will! I don't care what Faith has done with that chip in her head -- I don't trust her any more than I do Spike!" she barked back.

"You trusted them both enough to let them help you..."

Buffy sighed wearily and closed her eyes. "Willow, please. I'm tired. I really don't want to think about Faith anymore. I want to check on Angel, and go to sleep. So is there anything else I should keep an eye out for?"

Her best friend was quiet for a moment. When she spoke again, her voice was tense.

"Watch for funny rashes, and bruises that aren't bruise colored. Sometimes the implants cause a weird reaction," she said tersely.

"Okay," Buffy replied. She felt bad for lashing out at Willow. None of this was her fault. "Will, I'm sorry, I'm just..."

"Worried sick?" Willow finished for her, "It's okay, Buffy, I understand."

Buffy didn't think she really could, and didn't know if even that made her behavior okay, but she accepted the sentiment anyway. "Thanks..."

They hung up, and Buffy stiffly climbed up the stairs to the bedroom and collapsed into the chair by the bed, gazing down at Angel's motionless form. How was it that she always ended up here, like this, in this very chair... her lover mortally wounded, waiting to see whether the next moment would bring his recovery or his death? What had they ever done to deserve this constant stream of bad fortune?

Okay... so it wasn't all bad. And Angel did have a pretty heavy karmic debt. But how much was enough?

In a moment she didn't realize had passed, Angel's eyes opened and fixed on her. He still didn't move, but this was the first time since they'd left the Initiative compound that he had really been awake at all. Buffy moved to sit beside him on the bed, took his cool, limp hand, and reached out with her free hand to softly stroke his hair, giving him a little smile of relief.

Angel took a deep breath, and spoke, his voice cracked and rough. "Ionúin... Cad a bhain duit? Ca fhád a tá tú anseo?" he croaked, "Mó tarthmhar... á mise... ní gá duit..."

Okay... he was babbling. And in Gaelic, no less. Buffy couldn't decide if she should take that as a good sign, or a bad one.

"Honey... I don't understand you," she murmured, leaning down to kiss his damp forehead, "Don't talk now. Just rest."

Angel closed his eyes, but his brow scrunched as if he was concentrating on her words, trying to remember what they meant. She could feel him, quiet, but no longer still, at the edge of her mind. He seemed to be collecting himself, re-gathering his scattered energies, and after a moment, she felt his essence push gently against hers, easing his way across the link, and inside her. Until now, their connection had been unfocused, instinctive, and automatic, spurred by pain and need. But now Angel began to concentrate, touching her tenderly, communicating with their bond what he couldn't seem to with his words. Buffy closed her eyes and tried to relax, and let him in.

Her body quivered with the strange penetrating sensation, and when he spoke again, she realized she was feeling him, not hearing his speech.

'This is... intimate,' he said.

Buffy sighed at the feeling... the way she could feel him touching her, when she knew full well their skin wasn't making contact anywhere but at their hands.

'Is this okay?' he asked, 'Buffy... I don't want to hurt you...'

'It's okay... I think. Just... weird.'

'We've never been this close, before.'

'It's kind of... nice, I guess.'

She felt him laugh softly, and a little thrill of joy flashed between them.

'I don't know if that was you, or me,' she said.

'Does it matter?'

'Angel, please... don't ever scare me like that again... I thought I lost you.'

'I'm sorry, mó grá ... I didn't know...'

'I can't lose you. Not now...'

'I wouldn't have reached out, had I known... I don't ever want to cause you pain...'

'I can't live without you! Please, don't leave me!'

Their thoughts and emotions poured out from one and into the other, coating their minds, jumbling into a confused mess, tumbling out of control, until none of the words made sense. Neither could seem to stop the rush once it began.

Buffy cried out as the link opened further, and she felt the very edges of his darkest core reveal themselves to her... his nightmares, his past, his secrets... Angel was making himself vulnerable, allowing her to flow into the deepest shadows of his soul, where she could hear the demon howl. She fought, trying to pull back. The place that she touched was deathly cold, and seemed to siphon heat from her... sucking energy into its bottomless void of rage and pain. She struggled, using all of her will to push him back... to force him to stop draining her life force like he might her blood with his fangs at her throat.

'Angel... stop! It hurts!'

He didn't seem to hear her. He was far away, awash in the bliss of her power pumping into him. Buffy could feel him, barely coherent, as he plunged forward, pushing her out of his mind, and forcing his way into hers. He roughly began edging around her center, rifling through her thoughts, memories, and emotions.

"ANGEL, STOP!" she screamed aloud, and physically pulled herself away.

The link snapped, and Angel abruptly sat up, wide-awake and muddled, because the last thing he could recall clearly was pain, and then no pain. He looked at Buffy strangely, uncertain why she looked so afraid, as she sat huddled at the edge of the bed. He felt fine. Then, he recalled what was happening...

Angel tentatively reached out with his hand, and Buffy accepted it in her own, hesitantly coming back to his side once more.

He looked down at her tenderly, holding her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to push so far... I just... you were wide open, and I wanted to see what was inside you. I wanted you to be able to do the same," he said, giving her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

She returned it shakily. "Yeah, well... I think that was too much, too fast, for me..."

"What did you see?"

Buffy had no words for the blackness she saw. She shrugged. "Nothing."

"You didn't see anything?" he asked, confused. If there was nothing there, what was she so afraid of?

"No... I mean... it was like... a LOT of nothing. Like... oh, God, I don't know, Angel, I just know that it was terrifying. So cold..." she whimpered.

Angel wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. "Sh... I'm sorry."

Buffy held him, reveling in feeling his arms around her, strong and safe, once again. "It's okay... but. I think we need to slow down. I think we need to learn how to control this before we try to touch each other like that again."

"Okay," he agreed, and lay back against the pillows. Buffy slid closer and lay down beside him, resting her head next to his so they were face to face and eye to eye.

"There are just... things I don't think I'm ready to show you yet," she told him, "And things I'm just not ready to see inside you."

Angel nodded, and reached over to caress her cheek. "I understand. It's scary, in there."

Buffy felt a little tug at her heart... a tiny flash of gratitude and guilt and love that Angel let flow across the link, but under careful restraint. Experiencing that tiny fraction of his emotion for her made her smile.

'Soul hug,' she said.

'It's nice to hug you that way.'

'Yeah. I just... I'm afraid. I want my private thoughts to stay private, you know? I think we should... just stay near the surface until we can... control ourselves... okay?'

She watched a smile light his dark eyes. 'Okay.'

Buffy took a deep breath, and concentrated on closing the connection between them as much as she could, until she couldn't feel him so acutely inside herself anymore.

"This is lonely," he said.

"And cold," Buffy agreed. She lay a hand gently on his chest. Angel claimed it in his own, and drew it gently to his lips.

"I'm sorry I scared you."

Buffy felt her heart race a little with joy at feeling his touch once more. She leaned down slowly and kissed him, a feather soft caress of lips. As it grew deeper, and she felt the familiar thrill of his cool tongue seeking hers, his hands tangled in her long hair, the link seemed to snap open of its own accord, sending a wave of love and passion shooting through her, rocking her tired body.

She pulled away with a shudder and a gasp, not opening her eyes.

"Wow," she whispered.

"Some kiss," Angel added.

She opened her eyes once more and looked at him silently for a long time, watching his emotions play across his beautiful face. Part of her wanted to open fully to him -- let down the last barriers between them, and feel their essences mix and combine until there was no longer any way to tell where one of them ended and the other began... like her dream the night he was kidnapped.

But most of the Slayer was terrified. Terrified of what she might find in the demon's lair of his mind. She'd had a taste of his horrible past before... and it had almost killed something in her soul. What lived there wanted to kill her... consume her... destroy the world, just because. Coming face to face with the very center of Angelus' evil frightened her far more than having to do battle with his physical self ever had.

Maybe because she wasn't sure she could win, when it came to a fight on the psychic plane... Her body was stronger than his, but was her soul?

Buffy rose abruptly from the bed. "Let me get you some water," she excused herself and went toward the kitchen.

Angel watched her go, nearly overwhelmed by all the sensations this new power they created elicited in him. He knew that being inside her, feeling her energy and her love, had healed him -- saved him. But he also knew that connecting that way forced Buffy to experience the most horrifying parts of himself. All the pain that he could hardly handle from day to day, when it was his to bear. How could he expect her to do it?

They would need to seek help soon, before all of this got out of hand, and they were unable to touch one another at all for fear of losing control. The very thought of having to be without Buffy again tore open a whole new wound in his soul -- he literally couldn't live without her anymore. And he doubted that he would want to, even if he could. He rose stiffly and began to get dressed before he headed downstairs to his small library.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Leave it to a Slayer to go moping around in a cemetery, of all places. Spike found Faith sitting in the grass, propped up against an ostentatious mausoleum dotted with tacky statues of cherubs, right in the center of Sunny Rest. He felt sorry for her... almost. At least, in regard to their mutual headchip thing. Spike knew from painful experience what it felt like to be a vicious animal, caught on the end of a choke chain.

He approached her slowly, making as much noise as he possibly could, not wanting to be the vampire that startled an already upset Slayer. Leaning lazily against the mausoleum beside her, he lit up a smoke and stared out into the starry night.

"Seems a bit light on the action tonight, eh?" he commented off-handedly, as though they had met waiting in line for something.

"Shut up," Faith snapped, "I'm not in the mood for your bullshit."

Spike chuckled wryly. "Nice to see the Lithium's wearing off. Back to your pleasant old self again, then, is it?"

She didn't bother looking at him. "Fuck you," she spat evenly, "I'd just as soon dust you as take your crap tonight, vampire."

He eased down into the grass next to her. "Oh, come on now, Kitten. After all the help I gave rescuing my beloved sire? And I was the one who pointed out your new hardware..."

The brunette scowled. "Yeah, thanks for that," she said, and let her jacket fall open to reveal the stake she had tucked inside.

Spike's eyebrows shot up. He decided very quickly against his next intended smart remark, and concentrated intently on smoking his cigarette for a while, instead.

"A hunter that can't hunt and a predator that can't prey," he mused, "Has a twisted sort of poetry to it, don't you think?"

Faith glared at him. "What the Hell is that supposed to mean?"

He shrugged. "I mean... the whole caged animal routine."

"I am not an animal!" she retorted.

A smirk lit his features. "That's not the way I hear it."

Faith turned away again. "Yeah, well, don't believe everything you hear."

"I don't," he assured her.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

"What do you want, Spike? I kind of came out here to be alone."

Crushing his Marb out on the grass beside him, he turned to look at the miserable Slayer once more. DAMN, but she was sexy. Her long, thick hair and her big, expressive eyes, both the same deep, honeyed brown. And that mouth... those full, pouty lips. Not to mention her particularly provocative mode of dress -- the tight leathers and skimpy tank left little of her hard, curvaceous body to the imagination. And she could scowl like nobody's business! Spike found, to his great discomfort and chagrin that he had to spend a great deal of time and energy concentrating on not drooling whenever he was around her. And the power that bubbled violently beneath her skin was enough to jump-start his dead heart.

He hadn't felt this way since Dru.

"Just thought you might like some company," he explained coolly, "Somebody who knows where you're coming from and all..."

"If you're trying to use the sympathy ploy to get down my pants, save it. I'm not Buffy -- I don't do vampires," Faith informed him.

Spike laughed heartily. "Wouldn't dream of it."

She shrugged. "Whatever."

The vampire lit up another cigarette, and watched the smoke curl into the air and disappear on the breeze.

"You know... just for the record... you can probably still kill demons," he told her, "It's just living things the gear takes out of the hunt."

Faith glanced at him suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. It was as if this obnoxious vampire had been reading her thoughts -- she was just pondering the worth of a Slayer that couldn't slay.

"Really," she said, trying to sound cool, but was unable to keep the child-like note of hope from her voice.

He nodded. "Yup. Demons are still fair game. It's almost an acceptable loss, so long as you can kill something, you know?"

She stared at him for a long moment, thinking. "Demons, like... vampires?" she thought aloud, her voice low and deadly as she reached a hand into her coat.

Spike flinched at the implication and began to back away from her, "Hey. Whoa. No slaying the toothless puppy, eh, Pet?" he objected.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she mocked, "I mean, you can't fight back. What fun would that be?" The stake came out of her jacket with a yank.

He jumped to his feet in a moment, and began backing away, his hands raised defensively as Faith followed and advanced on him.

"WAIT! Wait... I've got something a lot more fun for you to do than kill one vampire that can't fight back!"

Faith stopped. "Like what?"

"Like a nest," he told her, "A nice, juicy nest chock full of pesky demons just begging for a good slaying. So if you can hold off going Van Helsing on me for five minutes, we can walk on over to Baker Street and do a whole lot more damage. And have a whole lot more fun."

She squinted her eyes at him. "And what, exactly, do you get from all this, if not a piece of my ass?"

"Well, gee," Spike told her with a cocky grin, "I get the satisfaction of knowing I helped a fellow being in need, of course."

Faith laughed, tucking the stake back into her pocket and shaking her head. "You are one severely fucked up individual."

"Takes one to know one," he commiserated, and offered her his arm like a gentleman. Faith stared at it as if she thought it might bite her, then finally tucked her hand in the crook of his leather-clad elbow.

"This better be good, Fang Boy, or you're talcum powder," she warned, and let him lead her off toward Baker Street.

~~~~~~  
Angel babbles: "Beloved...What happened? How long have you been here? I'm thirsty... I need... you shouldn't..."


	10. Trouble's True Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATION (roughly): "My love... come back... I need you... you can't die!"

Giles' house always felt cramped when Crisis Rooming was in effect, even when the numbers only included their Sunnydale family. But when members of the Angel Team joined them, the small condo was more reminiscent of the Biltmore than the home of a rather solitary bachelor who didn't even share space with a pet, under normal circumstances.

There were a great many things all of them had to worry about, and no one slept, as a result. Anya and Xander curled up on sleeping bags, watching a late night talk show, while Willow and Tara sat at the kitchen island, reading and discussing what they had found from the more magickal of the Initiative's materials. Cordelia and Doyle sat on the couch, playing cards and laughing, taking time every few minutes to exchange a whisper, a kiss, or a secret smile.

Giles watched his rather large, odd family with great interest. Perhaps his home was not the best place for them to gather, should the Initiative choose to come looking for Faith and Angel. But staying close together seemed to make the children .. //They're not children anymore...// feel more secure. And with Buffy standing guard over Angel, and Faith off somewhere, hopefully (he couldn't believe he was thinking it) under Spike's watchful eye, there didn't seem to be any reason why the others wouldn't be just as safe here, as anywhere else. He only hoped that Riley's assistance had gone undetected by his superiors, and would remain so until the Scooby Gang had uncovered enough information to protect them. Riley was, after all, the only real tie the Initiative's escaped prisoners had to the organization, and thus, to Giles' home.

Some part of him, despite his anger with the boy, felt sorry for Riley. Certainly he hadn't known -- or at least, not fully understood -- what his employers had been involved in. And if he had, would he have been so quick to turn around and go to the lengths he had to help Buffy's friends undo the damage?

He shook his head, setting thoughts of Riley's state of mind aside, and focused once more on the materials he and Wesley had spent the past few days poring over. Of particular interest, besides the information on the Initiative's demon behavioral experiments, were the volumes of obscure prophecy encrypted into some of the data disks.

The government had taken great pains, for such a technologically focused organization, on collecting as many fables, prophecies, and histories regarding the Slayer and the Hellmouth as possible. There were thousands of scanned pages from innumerable time periods, some in languages even Giles didn't recognize. The information ranged from the absolutely ridiculous to the pointedly accurate, making him wonder what motive they truly had in "rescuing" Faith from the hospital... were they intending her to be some sort of secret weapon? And what, besides the most obvious example of the chip, had they done to her during her coma, and the many periods of lost memory she reported since its end?

But most of all, he wondered what all of this: the Initiative's actions, the prophecies, and the burgeoning link between Buffy and Angel might portend for them. Because whatever danger befell them, would surely befall all of the people in this room, by consequence.

He sighed. Not for the first time, Giles felt as though he were staring down the tunnel of time at the Fates, and they didn't look anymore fondly on him now than they had the first time he had met them at a crossroads in his life.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Spike brushed vampire dust off Faith's black tee shirt, almost surprised that she didn't back away when his hands brushed her heaving chest.

Instead, she laughed. "You were right -- that was fun!" she admitted, and walked toward the street. Spike quickly fell into step beside her.

"So, where will you be going, then?" he asked. She looked twice as delicious, all sweaty and dirty and rumpled, and Spike found that once again, an unpleasant duty he'd been blackmailed into by the infernal Scooby Gang wasn't so bad, after all. The last time, he'd gotten to humiliate his sire thoroughly, as well as make a couple hundred bucks. But this time, well... he imagined the rewards might be possibly even more pleasant.

"Denny's, then..." Faith frowned a little, and shrugged, "I really don't know."

"Well, you could probably bunk down with my Sire and the Slayer..."

She shot him a look, "I can't even tell you what a colossally bad idea that is."

"Right. Well, I don't think the Watcher's place would be much fun, either. And I don't really have a decent spot, or... you know, I'd offer..." Spike mumbled the last, and Faith had to smile.

"We can just go to a motel. I have a little money," she told him, hoping her implication was clear.

Spike's head shot up, and he stared at her. "Uh... sure."

He felt like an idiot. Here she was, practically begging him to bang her, and all he could think to say was, 'Uh, Sure'? Just went to show that having a lot of years under your belt didn't necessarily guarantee cool in every situation.

The Slayer grinned. "I take it Buffy never explained the ‘Hungry &amp; Horny Principal’ to you?"

The vampire looked at her for a moment, his smile growing progressively wider. "We're not that close. Besides, the Great Poofy One would have my head. But... you can feel free to share."

As they walked toward Denny's, she did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cordelia woke with the first touch of dawn to find Doyle gone from beside her. She was almost surprised to find that the idea upset her. When had she gotten so damned domestic?

She got up from the guest room bed, and padded down the hall to what passed as the kitchen in Giles' condo, lamenting for the hundredth time that Doyle had volunteered them to leave the mansion so Buffy and Angel could be alone.

What if Angel needed them? It wasn't like he could just jump up and give them a call. Although, she hoped that Buffy would...

Cordy found her half-demon exactly where she expected to, sitting at the bar in the dark with a glass in his hand, staring out into space.

"Please tell me you didn't get up at sunrise for a drink," she complained in a loud whisper, plopping down on the stool next to him.

Doyle raised his gaze to hers slowly, admiring the way the first faded light of morning fell softly across her high cheekbones and lit a tiny brown fire in her angry eyes.

"In fact, I did," he replied.

Cordelia frowned sourly. "Why?"

He gave her a look as if she should know. His drinking, which had considerably waned in the past few months, was still a bone of contention between them.

"I was thirsty, of course," he retorted, none too testily.

"Fine. Don't talk to me, then," she huffed, "See if I care."

He watched her closely for a few moments. "I was thinking about circles."

"Circles?" she asked, as though he had told her he was thinking about Circus Clowns.

"Yeah. Big, goose egg paths that you try to follow to go forward to somewhere different, but ya only end up right back where ya started. It's frustratin'."

Cordelia reached out and took his glass, giving the contents a sniff.

"This is milk," she observed, shocked.

The half-demon gave her a grin. "Yah... is dat okay wit’ you?"

She handed the glass back to him, and watched him drain it in a few gulps, giving a satisfied smack at the end.

"I just didn't think you drank non-alcoholic liquids, that's all."

Doyle gave her a milk mustache smile. "Princess, you wound me," he bemoaned, and licked it away.

"So if you aren't drunk, why are you babbling about circles like James Joyce?"

His eyebrows shot up. "You've read Brother James?"

Cordy rolled her eyes. Was everybody in Ireland his 'Brother'? "I tried to read that "Finnigan's Waverly" or whatever that you're always going on about."

He leaned over the bar toward her, now totally stunned, "You read "Finnegan's Wake"?!"

"No, I didn't read it! I took it back to the bookstore and told them about all the misprints, and bought a lipstick, instead."

Doyle grinned happily. "Well, at least ya got somethin' out of the experience."

"Absolutely. But you still haven't answered my question," she reminded him.

He thought about it for a moment, considering the idea of Cordelia even attempting to read Joyce, and found it was driving him pleasantly to distraction.

"Oh. Right. Circles. I feel like we're always running in circles, the whole lot of us, and no matter which way we turn, we always end up right back where we started."

"Like, you're not getting anywhere," Cordy mimicked, thanking God for the Active Listening Skills she'd learned back in 11th grade English, because she had no idea what he was blabbering about.

"That's what I said, 'Delia, my dove..." he sighed sadly.

Cordelia scrunched her eyebrows. "I don't understand..."

Doyle stared into his empty glass, and made a silent wish for a shot of whiskey to appear in the bottom of it. "Look at us. Back in Sunnydale, in Defcon 1... again."

"What? Will you speak English, please?"

He looked at her. "Crisis Mode."

"Oh," she shrugged, "We're always in Crisis Mode, Doyle. It's kind of our job, remember?" she reminded him gently.

"No, no... I mean, "Buffy and Angel Crisis Mode". One or da both a 'dem are always in trouble, aren't they? And that means all the rest of us are up to our eyeballs in it, too. I hate this."

Cordy stared at him. "I thought you were all 'Up With Buffy and Angel'?"

He nodded. "I am... mostly. Just... I want him to be happy, you know? He deserves it. And I don't see how either him or the Slayer ever could be, what wit' 'dem havin' ta struggle all da time... I mean... don't they get tired? They make me tired... and I gotta wonder if it's all worth it."

She thought about that for a minute. And not for the first time, either. In fact, over the past year, she'd thought about Angel and Buffy a lot... was what they shared worth all the pain they had to go through? Was that shadow of sorrow in Angel's eyes when he was away from her for too long a fair trade for whatever small happiness they had when they were together?

The truth was, it had taken falling in love with Doyle for her to truly understand. At least, in some small way. For the first time in her whole life, Cordelia knew what it felt like to really need someone, deep in her heart, and to really want them, and miss them when they were gone. She'd never had that before.

If Angel and Buffy felt even a tenth of what she felt for the beautiful, moping half-demon in front of her, the rising sun from the living room windows glinting off his icy blue eyes, the only true answer had to be 'yes'. It was all worth it. She would kill or die for Doyle, without a second thought... sacrifice anything to keep him safe and happy. She finally had some inkling of what drove the Slayer and her vampire.

"Stupid," she began with a smirk, "Anything worth having is really hard to get. Everybody knows that. You have to work for it. Like your credit rating."

A grin snuck across Doyle's face.

"I don't know why I let ya treat me the way you do, Miss Cordelia Chase."

Cordy rose and stood behind his chair, bending over and wrapping her long, tanned arms around his shoulders. Doyle brushed his hand up her forearm and leaned back into her soothing embrace as she whispered in his ear:

"Because you know I'm right. And because you know I love you, and I would never say a word you didn't fully deserve."

He sighed and craned his head to look up at her. "Oh, that. Yeah... of course." Doyle didn't ever think he had seen a more beautiful sight in all his days. "And I love you, as well."

She smiled and wrinkled her nose up at him. "Good. More milk?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Ow, Buffy!" Angel yelped as she pulled the bandage away from his side, "I don't know why you're doing this, anyway. It's not like I can die from an infection or something."

Buffy whacked him gently on the arm. "Hush, you. I have to change this." She oozed ointment on to the burn, and measured out another length of gauze, taping it securely down on his skin. "Besides, it makes me feel better to take care of you."

She started to move away, but Angel grabbed her hand and looked up at her with an aching tenderness and gratitude she could feel as keenly as his touch.

"You already do take care of me," he insisted softly, and pulled her down for a gentle kiss.

Buffy lingered with her lips on his for a moment, then eased away with a weak smile. She walked across the room, tossing the old bandages into the trash. She stood and stared down at them.

Angel watched her; concerned about the worry he could feel radiating from her in miserable waves, the tension bunching her fine neck and back. He got out of bed and followed her, resting his hands on her shoulders and kneading them firmly.

"Mmm..." she sighed, leaning against him and closing her eyes, "That's nice..."

"It's supposed to be," he told her, brushing a few stray wisps of her hair aside so he could kiss the back of her neck, "Do you want to tell me what's on your mind?"

"Nothing."

Angel turned her around slowly to face him. "I can feel you, Buffy. If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, you only have to say so. But please don't lie to me."

Buffy frowned and looked down at her feet. "Do you want it all in alphabetical order or by degree of suckiness?" she asked, her voice low.

He tenderly kissed her forehead and drew her close. She nestled in against his chest.

"However you want to tell me," he replied.

"I'm afraid," she whispered.

Angel closed his eyes, and there was that sensation again... that her pain was his, and it was his responsibility to help her make it better.

"Why, love?"

She pulled away, took his hand, and led him back over to sit on the bed. Once again, she focused on the floor.

"When all of this started... I mean, way back, with Willow's spell... it all seemed so easy, like everything we needed to do to be together just fell into place. It was all just... right. Simple."

He sighed. "It was never simple, Buffy. Never. Nothing ever has been, between us."

She raised her eyes to look into his. "I know. I do know that. We've had to work really hard to get where we are now. And... I just can't... I can't even think about losing you. In any way."

He gazed down at her tenderly. "You're not going to lose me, not ever. We're bound, remember? Eternally. And that's the way I like it."

She shook her head. "But we don't know what could happen! Look at all of this!" she gestured at his mostly-healed wounds, "You could have died from what they did to you! What if we don't even know all of it yet? What if you do have a chip in your head? What if you get staked, or beheaded or thrown out into the sunlight or somebody breaks our bond and steals your soul? I'll die, Angel! I can't live without you!"

Angel's dead heart clenched in his chest. When had she become so fragile? So insecure? Only weeks ago, she had believed with all of her being in what they had struggled to build together. She seemed to have no doubt in their bond. And now? Now she jumped at every shadow, all of her strength and courage simply gone.

It all started with Faith. And now this new tie between them that forced Buffy to see all the pain and evil inside him... forced her to learn about things she should never have to know -- about the delicacy of life, and of sanity...

"I mean..." she went on, shaking, "What if you were human? You would have been dead."

"If I was human, they wouldn't have taken me," he reminded her.

"No.. but... if Faith had never come back in the first place, they wouldn't have taken you, either. So I want my 'I told you so' noted for the record, please."

He chuckled. "Muirnin... Faith didn't know what had happened to her... or what the Initiative had planned."

Buffy's head snapped around, and she glared at him. "Don't you dare defend her!"

Angel nodded. Now was not the time to have a debate about Faith.

"I'm just so tired," Buffy sighed, "So tired of my life just being one struggle after another. Things never seemed so difficult before."

She leaned her head on his shoulder, and sagged against him. Angel put his arm around her and pulled her close, playing with the ends of her hair and kissing the top of her head.

"Life is never simple, Buffy. Not for anyone. Our problems are just... on a more unusual scale than most. We have big responsibilities, thus big troubles. But don't forget, there are also big rewards that are easy to miss."

She rubbed his thigh softly, staring at the way the smooth silk of his slacks shone over the muscles beneath.

"Like what...?"

"Like... knowing that you've saved the world. Think about that. Every time you see something beautiful on this planet... a child laughing, or an eagle flying... a sunrise... you can know that's because of you. Even closer to home... look at all the lives you've touched: your friends, your family’s... mine..."

His voice dropped low at the last, and Buffy pulled back to look at him.

"Yours?"

Angel smiled warmly. "Of course. Knowing you has given me more than anything else in my entire existence, Buffy. You should know that. You've given me so much joy... a reason for living when I had none... a purpose, when I thought I was useless. Without you, I never would have become the person that I am now. Or have been able to experience all of the beautiful things we've shared. Whatever the cost... no matter how arduous...I would never change a moment of it."

Buffy felt a thrill in her heart at his words, and a wave of his strength flow through her, bolstering her tired spirit. Maybe it did hurt... maybe it wouldn't ever be simple. But he was right -- she had gained more from the life they shared together: their duties, their trials and tribulations, than she ever would have if she had remained plain old Buffy Summers, LA Fashion Plate.

She leaned up and kissed him softly. This being... this tender, strong, courageous man... her heart of hearts and soul of souls, had become the foundation for it all. His determination in the face of pain she could only begin to imagine, and his steadiness, despite the frigid rage that lived at his core, inspired her. He urged her on when she didn't think she could take anymore. And their bond went so deep, now... was so complete, that even if Fate was cruel, and they were somehow separated, they would still always be together.

She would never lose him, because they were one and the same. They were one another's consolation... solace... home.

The kiss grew deeper, and Buffy sighed as he pulled her into his lap, spreading tiny caresses of his lips over hers, then around her tear-stained cheeks and softly over her eyelids. She returned his touch, reveling in the feeling of their connection blazing open, where her comfort and his once again blended.

Close... she was so close to him, now, so deep inside of him... As his hands swept over her back, his fingers ran through her hair, and his lips blessed the skin of her throat, she felt the wave... the rush of what her body felt like, to him. How he honored and cherished and admired her... wanted her, starved for her... trusted her so completely... loved her utterly...

She didn't need to be afraid. She only needed this: his desire whispering through her mind like a breeze... Buffy slid her hand along his smooth, hard chest, adoring his physical being as much as his precious soul.

Everything about him was good. She could feel it as he laid her gently back down on the bed, whispering of his love for her, and her perfect beauty. And his words touched her more deeply than they might once have, as she could feel them through the link as keenly as she could hear his speech, and feel his hands caressing her, stripping her bare of both doubt and the clothing that separated them.

Buffy fell into the glory of his body, like a pool of cool flesh, rising and falling, waning and waxing against her. She reached for him and clutched him closer, wrapping her arms and legs around him as he explored her curves with his hands and mouth. He lapped at her nipples, smoothing the rest of her like silk with long strokes of his strong, gentle hands.

She'd never been on fire like this before, even with him. As she opened her mind to him, and he spilled into her soul, she cried out, and again, when he penetrated her physically, stretching all of her being to accommodate his presence.

"Oh, God, yes!" she cried, and Angel murmured deeply in return, rocking her like a delicate thing, moving into and out of her slowly to the rhythm of her pulse.

It was the first time Buffy had ever been so full... so sharp and in tune with everything around her, as if he increased all of her senses with his own. She felt his sighs and tasted his skin, and then hers, and began to forget which were his lips, his hands, his legs, and which were her own.

It was a certainty, that she felt inside him... a surety of self and purpose and desire... the first reaches of his soul were filled with an absolute belief that what was happening was exactly what was supposed to be happening in that moment.

"You feel so... good... " he moaned, feeling her fill him.

"Yes..." she sighed in return.

The sensation of her warmth blessing the outermost reaches of his Centre sent a shudder across his skin. The link spread like a puddle of sunshine in the cold of his essence, blending with hers until they were one -- light and dark, life and death... an electric feeling that he imagined must have been what Genesis felt like -- the first energy, the first Love, creation itself...

But there was pain, too. A shadow, shivering and dark, where their souls met -- that frigid desert inside him where no creature had tread and lived to tell the tale. Angel held back, unwilling to let her go farther, unable to let go in his fear for her.

Nothing, she'd told him. Buffy had felt Nothing at his core.

"I love you... Angel... ohhhhh..." she sighed into him, and gently clamped her teeth down on the scar... her mark... on his throat. The first rumbles of a demonic growl rolled from his chest.

'No... Buffy... don't...'

'I need to see. I need to feel you... know you...'

His body's rhythm inside of her faltered as his body tensed with apprehension. He pushed back against her with his mind.

'You can't... I don't want...'

'Shhhh...' she purred, pushing gently back.

Angel sighed, trying to trust her, trying to relax and let down his guard. Buffy's power pushed against him, penetrating his essence, and a wave of consuming bliss rocked him.

'Love you...'

'Part of you... part of me...'

'So warm...'

'All of you... need ... all of you...'

Their hearts spoke through the link, as clearly as their bodies spoke, skin to skin. The pain didn't matter. Together, they were a song... of love and hope... flesh and breath... a thousand heartbeats...

The cold struck Buffy like a fist, and she cried out, the pleasure in her body instantly wiped away by a terror like nothing she'd ever felt before. Unseen talons reached from his core, from that corroding blackness that had frightened her before. She tried to fight it's reach, tried to push through it... or away from it... or anything, tried to swim, but the Nothing took her, bound her, and dragged her down... down into an abyss of pain. Evil. Hatred. Eternal darkness and bloodlust, until she was frozen with it. Drowning. She tried to call out his name, but could only scream senselessly. Buffy struggled, but found herself trapped.

For a moment, Angel was so awash in her purity, in her light, that he didn't feel her body go limp in his embrace. Didn't feel her muscles slack or her breath hitch, then choke, then stop.

But he felt the screaming. His name, piercing every other sensation. Buffy's pain. Buffy's heartbeat faltering.

'Buffy...'

The link flickered, wavering wildly, a sudden decay spreading through it, and the power began to dim and grow cold from her end. She gave no response to his frantic calls.

'BUFFY?' he called her again.

Nothing. Even the screaming stopped, leaving nothing but the fading life force that drained out of her as though inhaled by an unholy siphon.

Angel pulled away, out of her body, forcing himself back to normal consciousness, and opened his eyes. Buffy lay pale and still beneath him... for a few seconds that seemed like eternity, he was reminded of the time he'd drained her blood... Panic rose in a frigid clutch inside his chest.

"BUFFY!" he shouted, shaking her, "BUFFY, WAKE UP!"

She wasn't breathing. He could still feel her, just faintly, lost somewhere in the link.

"Oh, God!" He closed his eyes and focused, following what he could still feel of her life force, until he found the Centre once more. Imagining the link had hands, he grabbed her strongest point, pulling back with all of his will, away from the stink of death and the demon's howling. As he pulled, he clamped down with his mind, and after a moment, the link snapped shut with an almost audible crack.

"Mo Gra... tar droim... impigh ti... ni fiagh bas!" he sobbed, rubbing her hands, his tears splashing on her skin.

//No. I can't lose her!//

Buffy gasped, taking a huge, gulping breath, her body beginning to shudder as her consciousness returned.

"BUFFY!" Angel yelped, fondling her face with his hands, willing his strength into her with his lips, "Oh, God, love... I'm so sorry..."

"A-a-angel..." she shivered.

He could hear her heartbeat again, and the realization that he had come so close to losing her -- that he had almost killed her -- sapped the rest of the strength from him, and he collapsed beside her on the bed, clutching her in his arms as he sobbed.

Buffy burst into frightened tears, clutching him desperately. "Angel!" she cried, "I can't... I can't touch you!"

Like a nightmare. He held her so close, and yet... it was like the Curse, revived in a horrible new way. He buried his face in her hair, breathing her in.

As he wept in her arms, he prayed... long forgotten words from a life that ended two and a half centuries before. Prayed that the Powers would grant them, just once, some reprieve from this misery of separation.

How could they live this way? So connected, but always ultimately separate? How were they supposed to save the world when they could no longer even save themselves?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tara re-read the passage, and turned to Willow.

"I don't think I'm g-getting this right. It doesn't make any sense."

The redhead took the book from her lover's hands, and peered at the paragraph she indicated.

"Oh, um... A New Day... no. A New... King? I don't know. Giles? Can you read this? It looks like French, but... it's... wrong."

Giles got up from his desk and joined the two women at the bar. They had been reading the magickal tests for days now, consulting one of the ex-Watchers every now and then for translation advice. He'd gotten used to just jumping up and perusing whatever they offered.

He scanned the page quickly. "It's not French. At least, not all of it... some is... I'm not certain about the rest. Pryce? Would you?"

Wesley joined the throng, and adjusted his glasses to look at the print. "Ah... hmm. Oh, my. It couldn't be..." his mouth creased into a frown.

"What is it?" Willow asked.

"I can't quite be sure, of course, but... I think part of the text is in the language of the Dahnaak. A very, very dead demonic language."

Everyone visibly deflated.

"Not so dead."

Four heads turned to stare at Anya, who stood behind them, watching with vague interest as she devoured a bag of barbecue potato chips.

"I beg your pardon?" Wesley snapped.

"Dahnaakin... the language of the Fifth Level Dahnaak. D'Hoffryn's language."

Xander came suddenly to life, leaping to his feet in front of the couch. "Wait. Did you say D'Hoffryn?"

Anya nodded.

"D'Hoffryn, like, 'turned you into a demon 1120 years ago' D'Hoffryn?"

"Uh huh," she confirmed, her mouth full.

Wesley stared at her. "Do you mean to tell me that you... SPEAK Dahnaakin?"

"Of course," Anya shrugged, "You can't get very far in the Vengeance business without it."

Giles leaned toward her, "Could you possibly explain why you never deigned to share this with us before?"

"You never asked," she replied with a cool shrug.

Giles opened his mouth to add more, but Willow cut him off, holding the book they'd been looking at to Anya.

"Do you think, that perhaps, you could read this for us, then?"

Anya took the book in one hand and read while she stuffed more chips in her face with the other. Willow, Tara, Giles, Wesley and Xander all waited.

"Um... Let's see. Blah blah demons, blah blah hellfire," she glanced up, "It looks like a lot of your standard apocalypse stuff. Fiends and devils and war, darkness, pure evil... that kind of thing." She skimmed a bit more, "Oh, and here... 'Great warriors of light' -- you have to have those in an Armageddon. Blood eaters and... Moondancers, I think? Wow."

The others stared at her, but she continued to read quietly to herself for a bit longer.

"Anya? Would you care to tell us what is so engrossing?" Giles finally interrupted.

"Yeah," the ex-demon told him, and balled up the now-empty potato chip bag, tossing it into the wastebasket next to Giles' desk with perfect ease.

"Then please do," Wesley encouraged her.

"The Fist... um... a Grand Paradox... and then a Vampire King. Not all of it is..."

"A king..." Xander cut in, "You mean, like... a Master?"

Anya nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, that's it! I'm kind of rusty. A lot of this looks like nonsense, but... 'A Master will rise in the place where the Light touches Hell.'"

No one said a word.

Tara held out a pen and memo pad. "Maybe you should write this down."


	11. Get a Grip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: Old Emma calls Angel "Blessed One" in Romanian; Angel calls Buffy, "Beloved... my beautiful love...", and Doyle refers to Gaelic as "The Mother Tongue".

The first sensation Buffy felt when she woke was pain. A pain that rang in her bones, as if she'd spent last night in some sort of battle with the Dark Forces.

In a way, she knew she had. Not only the battle against the thing chained in Angel's soul, but her dreams, which played out this new barrier between she and her love in symbols far too familiar and literal for her comfort.

She remembered a cavernous chamber, dimly lit by torches. The stone walls, floors, and ceiling painted with murals of horrifying, bloody violence -- scenes from vampire history and prophecy. The room was clearly some sort of meeting hall, and every one of the hundreds of stone bleacher seats was occupied by a creature of the night -- so many that her vamp radar cramped her womb hard enough to double her over in pain.

At least, she would have been doubled over, if she weren't chained to the upright equivalent of a medieval torture rack. Her arms were bound straight out from her body, her legs chained together and bent, like Jesus on the cross, and the whole contraption humming with magick that she could feel draining her strength as she waited.

Not that she could have moved, even if she weren't so bound. She could feel the injuries inflicted on her by the vampires that had brought her there. They'd been torturing her, bleeding her for hours before she was brought before the Council Elders... and the Master.

Funny, while her eyes were closed, Buffy hadn't felt any fear. Even the pain barely bothered her, as she knew that any moment, Angel would come crashing in, sword swinging, to save her. That thought squarely in mind, she forced her eyes open and her head up for a look at her accusers.

When she did, all hope vanished in a rush. Ten vampires, all ancient, and so powerful that she could smell it on them, sat in a line of chairs across a raised stage. The Master, the one who had called for her to be brought here, stood with his entourage, sneering a fangy grin at her.

Angel. Or rather, Angelus. Her lover’s demonic alter ego reigned as Master, here. By his left hand stood Darla, his supposedly long-dead Sire, and flanking them, like honor guards, were Spike and Faith. Two young girls completed the group, one a vampire, the other not, both pretty, with sandy brown hair, and no more than 12 or 13 years old. Each one wore an expression that left no doubt as to Buffy's fate. But it was Angelus who spoke it aloud:

"Buffy Summers. You stand accused of crimes against the vampire race. A thousand murders committed... and those yet to be committed. You have stood trial before the Council, and are unanimously found guilty by the Court."

He ambled down off the stage and stalked toward her, his gait full of arrogance and feline grace, his favorite broadsword drawn. He came close to where she hung, and whispered, "Not that it matters, lover, but... Do you have any last words before I gut you like a fish?"

His cold tone set her body to quaking. Buffy fought the urge to burst into panicked tears. She would never let him break her. "You can't kill me, demon. The two will be one. The four will be one. The six will be the Key, and in the Final Days, you and all your unholy seed will be banished to the pits of Hell!" she exclaimed, her voice echoing in eerie waves off the stone walls.

//Where the Hell did THAT come from?//

"Oh, Slayer," Angelus chuckled, "How very amusing. I certainly hope so. I have to say... I sort of miss Hell. See you there?" He concluded with a cruel leer.

The vampire host began to chant, "Death! Death! Death! Death!" Darla laughed, a deceptively sweet sound. The two little girls caught hands and began to sing in some language Buffy couldn't understand. Faith and Spike stood, stone still and impassive.

Angelus took a step back and swung the sword.

"Angel... ANGELLLL!" she screamed.

Then she woke to the pain. Opening her eyes, she felt tears of relief come to see the familiar stucco ceiling of their bedroom in the mansion. She turned to reach for him...

And found Angel watching her, a deep sorrow in his chocolate eyes.

Then she remembered last night. The talons of the blackness in his core. The terror she felt that death was coming... death wielded by her lover... her eternally bound mate.

Was that what the dream was telling her? That she was as tied to his evil as his light? That the darkness inside him would claim not only his soul, but hers?

Angel swallowed hard, his expression pained as he tentatively reached out to touch her face.

"I'm right here, Buffy."

She blinked, for a moment unable to separate her love for the man from her utter terror of the demon. She said nothing.

"You were crying out in your sleep," he told her, sliding closer, but still afraid to come too close, "Were you... dreaming?"

Without thinking, just needing him near, Buffy slid the rest of the way over, sighing as he took her automatically in his arms and held her tightly.

"Just a nightmare. It was nothing," she lied, burrowing into the safe haven of his broad chest.

Angel could taste the half-truth, feel it in her aura. Pain burned there. Pain and fear, both for the physical, and emotional, and he knew without her saying what she had dreamed.

He'd been there, too. Felt the bloodlust of the gathered vampires. Heard Darla's laughter ringing cold through the chamber, and the two young girls singing magick that would end the life of the Greatest Slayer.

Worst of all, he felt the hatred inside himself. Frigid, tearing desire to watch her entrails spill to the floor, to hold her still beating heart up before her eyes so she could watch it as she died. It had all felt so real.

Angel shivered, clutching her as close to him as he could, as if her living warmth was the only shield against what they'd both dreamed. What was this link doing to them? Had Old Emma helped to save him, only to curse him anew? The feeling of struggle with his demon self had eased, since the ritual, almost vanishing entirely. So how were its emotions manifesting in their shared nightmare? How was it able to reach out and grab her when they made love?

"We have to do something," he whispered into her hair, "We have to learn how to stop this, before..."

Buffy pulled away and looked deep into his eyes, "Before you kill me?"

Her words struck him like a fierce blow directly to the heart. He'd been so sure that the Bond would be a blessing... the answer to all of their prayers. That Angelus had been defeated once and for all by her bravery and unshakable devotion.

But now... now it seemed that his evil wasn't bound at all, only driven to a deeper place, where it lay in wait for her to come close enough to set it free once more. For it to gather power from the death of her Warrior Soul.

"Yes," he replied, shame staining his voice.

As close as they were at this moment, as keenly as he could feel her residual fear and sorrow, Angel could also feel the sudden barrier that she had erected against him, blocking him from seeing any more than her surface. And worst of all, the ferocity with which she held herself away from touching his mind. His life's only love was terrified of him. The realization shattered his heart.

Angel's sudden pain stung her, and Buffy's fear was overcome by guilt... and love. What happened wasn't his fault, and punishing him for it spat in the face of everything they had fought so hard to accomplish. She pulled away once more and looked at him, his eyes filled with ancient, unfathomable sorrow. Her own filled as well, and she reached up to gently brush his beloved face.

"We'll get through this," she promised, "He can't beat us. I love you, and no matter what comes, we can face it."

He took a deep breath and said a silent prayer of gratitude as his love and admiration for her swelled inside him. Hadn't he told her the exact same thing, only days before?

Yes. He had. And he knew, as mates in every way, that their ultimate purpose was to be strong, one for the other, when they were in need.

Angel forced a small smile. "I love you, too." He pulled Buffy back to him, and said yet another prayer:

That that would be enough.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anya was not a happy former demon. She was downright pissed at the situation her own big mouth had gotten her into -- almost twelve straight hours of reading, translating, and dictating, while one ex-Watcher cross-referenced wildly, and the other took down every word she said in anally tight shorthand.

She was tired. And hungry. And her back was all cramped up from slouching in the chair with a twenty-pound sheaf of papers in her lap all night and morning. Why, oh Dark Gods, why, had she ever come to this bloody dimension to begin with? It wasn't like what she was doing was all that much help -- only a tenth of the prophecies were in her mother tongue.

But noooo... the two men insisted with increasing vigor that they had to translate every single word they possible could. So another Master was coming.

So what? He was just a vampire... with a small army. Big deal! Surely Buffy and Angel--who were the only superheroes of the group to begin with--could take care of him! Stake--whoosh! No more Master. Jeeze!

"I really don't want to do this anymore," she complained loudly for what had to be the hundredth time.

Giles looked up from his current volume. "I'm sorry, Anya. We need to translate these passages as soon as possible. If there is a new Master about to rise, we must be prepared."

"Yes," Wesley agreed, shaking out his cramped writing hand, "A Master's Ascension is only one of a number of apocalyptic events these documents portend."

Anya sighed heavily, "Well, it's not FAIR! You let the others go home! Why don't they have to stay up all night reading? I hate reading! And I think I'm going blind!"

Giles removed his glasses and rubbed his weary eyes. "The others do not happen to have the knowledge we require to translate this material."

Wesley gave her a sympathetic look. "Maybe some nourishment is in order, hmm? Pizza, perhaps?"

She scowled darkly. "Well... I am hungry. Can we have pineapple and anchovies?"

The two Englishmen exchanged a disgusted look.

"Of course. Whatever you like," Giles relented hesitantly, and reached for the phone.

"We're almost finished with the last of the Da'Naakan passages. Afterward, you're free to go home, of course," Wesley added.

The ex-demon gave a semi-satisfied nod and turned her eyes back to the page before her. "Fine. So... where was I?"

Wesley consulted his notes. "The One Who Rose shall join the Sister of Light, and the Great Shadow will bind the Fist. The Paradox Gate shall open, and..."

"And release the Host unto the Land," Anya concluded.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mm. I see," Old Emma said noncommittally. "And you say this began when you and Buffy were intimate."

How could she sound so blase about all of this? Angel had practically told her point blank that having sex with his beloved almost killed her. Another horrible curse her kind had foisted on him -- and now Buffy too. Still, the old woman spoke as though he'd told her rain was in the forecast for tomorrow.

He held his fear and anger in check as best he could. "Yes. The closer we are, the worse it is. I could feel it. The demons wanted to drain her -- not of blood, but of her soul."

"Mm," the old woman repeated. "An unfortunate side effect."

Her neutral tone inflamed him further. "THIS IS SERIOUS, OLD WOMAN! SHE COULD HAVE DIED!"

The Gypsy was silent.

"I'm sorry," Angel said, chagrined at letting his fear for Buffy force him to forget his manners, "This is just... On top of everything else? Grandmother, how can we stop this? Please. I have to know."

Emma sighed softly. "Mi Acleasi Fericit... your life has been greatly burdened by my people's lack of foresight. And now by my own, as well."

Angel felt a pang of shame. "I'm sure you couldn't have known. You were trying to make the best of a bad situation."

"Indeed," she agreed, "And now it is my duty to assist you with another. I've seen the signs, Old One. Your bonding with the Slayer will play an important role in the days to come. We will learn together."

He heard Buffy coming downstairs, and turned from habit to watch her approach. Gods, how he loved to watch her body move... but now she progressed stiffly, obviously still in some pain, and his heart clenched at the sight.

Buffy felt his guilt and shame, and did her best to smile at him as she walked over to his seat on the couch. She rested on the arm, and gently reached out to brush his thick hair.

"Is that the Grandmother?"

Overcome by having her so close, able to sense how brave Buffy was trying to be, hiding her fear of him, he simply nodded. She kissed the top of his head, and took the phone.

"Grandmother?"

"Ah, Little Warrior. How fare you?"

Buffy sighed and dropped down beside Angel on the couch. "Scared. We're both..." she took his hand and squeezed, "...really, really scared."

The old were-cat chuckled. "Yes. So your young man has so eloquently expressed to me. Your bond holds true, but his core is closed to you, no?"

Buffy's glanced flicked uncomfortably to Angel, "Yeah. That's the long and short of it."

"I need for you to tell me all, Little One. So I might now how to proceed."

Angel put his arm around her and tucked her tightly to his side. Buffy didn't want to relive all that again. She didn't want that pain and choking darkness to come to life with her words. Most of all, she didn't want Angel to have to hear how close she had really come to death inside him.

'Tell her, Ionuin... It's nothing I didn't already know.'

She looked into his eyes, and felt his sincerity. Of course. Whatever it took, they would face it. Not matter how much it hurt.

She took a deep breath. "When we were... close... It was like we were... like a two-way river. But the less... control we had, the deeper the connection got. And when I was... um... all the way inside? It was like something inside him reached out to grab me."

Angel closed his eyes and held her closer, while blocking her at the same time. This pain was killing him -- he wouldn't let it touch her.

// But what if that means you can't touch her?//

He shook the thought away. It couldn't come to that. Not again. Not now, when they had come so far.

"Grab you? Physically? You were making love, and the demon attacked you?"

Buffy blushed. "Yeah."

"Mm," Emma said thoughtfully.

"Mm? That's not really very helpful," Buffy complained.

"I'm thinking, Little One. Have patience."

Buffy's frown turned into a full-fledged scowl. "Patience isn’t really one of my finer abilities."

The Gypsy chuckled. "Yes, I remember. Well... I will need to look into this further. Consult with the Gods..."

"Grandmother... there's... more," she added.

"More?"

"Yes. I, um... I had this nightmare. About... about Angelus."

Angel tensed beside her. He had almost forgotten about the nightmare. Buffy's condemnation at his hand. Was it prophetic? Symbolic?

"The demon," Emma confirmed.

"Yeah."

Buffy told her about the Council, about Angelus being the Master, and sentencing her to death. Before she got to the end of the story, Angel got up and abruptly left the room.

"And that's when I woke up," she concluded.

"Oh, Dear. That is troublesome."

"Troublesome? Grandmother, a splinter is troublesome. A flat tire is troublesome. This is...We're talking about..." she let her voice drop to a whisper, although she knew that Angel would still be able to hear her, if he tried, "We're talking about Angel's soul. I thought the demon was banished."

"No, my dear. The Beast is not gone. If it were, your Angel would be nothing but dust. It is simply bound. His soul is in no danger, so long as yours exists. But I fear..."

Terror climbed up Buffy's spine like a monkey made of ice, and set up shop right alongside all the other frozen fear monkeys that were already living there.

"You fear..."

"You must be very careful, child. The demon will try to loosen your soul, in order to break free."

"WHAT? Why didn't you TELL us this?" Buffy raged.

"Calm, Little Warrior. I have an idea how we might stop this progression. Allow me a day or two to prepare, and then come with your young man to the compound. I will teach you to control the link, and we will deal with the rest then."

Buffy glanced across the room. Angel stood in the shaded doorway, looking forlornly out at the afternoon sky.

"I hope so, Grandmother. I really do."

"Buffy?"

"Yes?"

"I hope I do not need to remind you to be cautious."

"No. You don't. We won't... " She didn't bother to finish. They wouldn't make love.

"Not only that. You must not forget to still care for one another, even in the face of your fear. What lies ahead will require all the strength of your love and devotion to confront. Your trials have only just begun."

Buffy deflated, so weary that she could lose consciousness right there and then. Trials. Always trials. "I know. We'll try."

"Good. I will speak to you soon."

Angel turned to look at her as she hung up. The anguish in his eyes cut her more deeply than the sword in her dream.

She opened the link, and let all of her emotions out in a rush.

'Angel, please. I need you to hold me. I'm so scared.'

He didn't hesitate. In the blink of an eye, he was sitting beside her once more, one hand tenderly on either side of her face.

'I love you. I would never, ever, do anything to hurt you. Ever. I'd die first.'

She rested her hands over his. 'I know. I love you, too, Angel. We can make it. We have to.'

'Buffy, I... Gods, I don't want to... not be able to make love to you. I couldn't stand that again. Not after all that time before...'

Buffy pulled him to her, and crushed him in a desperate embrace.

'It's only for now. We'll go to Sierra Ridge. The Grandmother will help us.'

'Ionuin...mo alainn croi... You're so brave. I wish... things could be simple for you.'

'They'll never be simple, remember? But we have each other. That's enough. That's all I care about. And that's always simple. Even with this.'

Angel pulled away and brushed soft kisses to her cheeks, eyelids, and finally, her lips. Buffy returned the gesture.

But neither wanted to go any farther.

She sighed, and got up. " I need to get out of here for a while. Will you be okay?"

He nodded, and gave her a small smile. "I'll be fine." Buffy started to move away, but he grabbed her hand. "Buffy..."

She looked back at him. "Yes?"

"I love you. Be careful, okay?"

Buffy nodded, gave his hand a squeeze, and left.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He dragged her up onto her hands and knees and drove himself mercilessly into her, relishing the animal grunts she gave as her head slammed into the headboard.

She urged him on with a yelp as he grabbed a handful of her long hair and gave it a vicious yank.

"Tell me how you want it, Slayer," he hissed, "Beg me."

She arched her back, impaling herself on him.

"Never!" she gasped.

He yanked harder, stopping the forward motion of his hips. She whimpered in protest.

"Beg for it," he repeated, giving his pelvis a slow twist, and thrilling at the way her body responded.

"No!" she moaned, panting hard, fighting to drive herself back onto him.

He blanketed his body over hers so he could whisper in her ear. "Are you telling me you won't give in to me?"

"That's what I'm telling you," she growled.

He laughed and returned his attention to drilling her until she screamed. When she came, she heaved and bucked violently like a wild beast, bending his body into painful positions that only great sex would make a man want to bend in. He drove into her with a joyful yell as he let go, their preternaturally strong bodies locked in a crushing embrace of ecstasy.

After a moment, they collapsed into one another's arms and lay still, without comment.

"I guess I can hurt you if you want me to," Spike mused aloud.

Faith chuckled breathlessly, "Thank God for small favors!"

"Hey!" he objected, wounded.

She gave him a whack. "Asshole. That's not what I meant."

Spike nuzzled against the warm flesh of her breast. "Then what do you mean? Speak plain, woman..."

"Nothing," she said, rubbing her body up against his, "I don't want to talk anymore."

"Well... maybe you should. There's stuff to think about, you know... like how you're going to stay in Sunnydale without running across the Soldier Boys... and how to keep away from Buffy...she's not too fond of you..."

"You just worry about your ass, Blondie" Faith admonished him, "I can watch my own."

He watched it anyway as she abruptly got up, and he couldn't help but smile as she walked toward the bathroom, completely unashamed of her nudity. Spike felt compelled to keep watching until she shut the door behind her, and then stretched out on the bed, lighting up a smoke.

Someone knocked on the motel room door, tentatively, as if they weren't certain they should be knocking at all.

"Yeah! Come in!" he called out. He was far enough from the entryway so the sun couldn't touch him, and Spike wasn't afraid of anything that might wander in during the day.

Buffy entered, looking around nervously, and closed the door behind her.

"Hello, gorgeous," Spike purred, taking a long drag from his smoke, "Say, you didn't happen to bring along any coffee..."

Buffy stared at him, almost as though she couldn't really believe she was staring at him. Which she couldn't. She held up the brown paper bag like a shield.

"And donuts..." she explained weakly.

"Oh YEAH!" he exclaimed, and rolled out of bed. Buffy quickly averted her eyes as he padded over to her, totally naked but his cigarette dangling between his teeth as he snatched the paper bag from her, "Nice show, Buff. If you had a pint of hot type O in here, I'd kiss you."

Buffy winced, and looked up when she heard his weight sink back onto the bed.

"Yeah, well, there isn't, so..."

Spike laughed, and sipped at one of the coffees.

"I guess I don't need to ask what you're doing here," Buffy said, "But, is Faith around?"

"She's in the shower," Spike told her, jammed a whole donut into his mouth, washed it down with a slug of coffee, and chased the whole shebang with a long draw off of his Marlboro.

Buffy grimaced with distaste - this was not a scene she wanted anything to do with. But... it was Faith - Hungry and Horny Faith - after all. What did she expect?

"Oh. Okay," she said, "Well, I'll come back later, then."

Spike shoved another whole donut into his face and reached over to click on the TV. "Do whatever the Hell you like. Just do it quietly. My shows are on."

Swallowing her discomfort, Buffy sat down in one of the flimsy chairs to pretend she wasn't seeing what she was seeing, and wait.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel felt as though his home was being invaded. The two ex-Watchers, Cordelia and Doyle all descended on him only minutes after Buffy left, laden with books and folders. They settled in his living room.

"Uh... can I get anybody..."

"Tea, please," Giles interrupted.

Doyle just grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. Cordy said nothing, plunking down on the floor and dragging out her nail polish implements as the Englishmen began spreading their materials out on the coffee table.

"Okay... tea it is." Angel made quick work of it, and brought a tray with the tea, a bottle of whiskey he kept stashed in the kitchen, and a Diet Sprite for Cordy.

Pleasantries out of the way, Angel sat in one of the vacant chairs. "Buffy said you have materials from the Initiative. Did you find anything important?"

Wesley handed him a photocopy of their notes. "Yes, actually. Although these prophecies are... difficult to decipher, to say the least, we have managed to work out several key passages thus far."

Angel glanced at the paper, "They're not complete?"

"No," Giles confirmed, "Unfortunately, our efforts are hampered by the construction of the document. It would seem that legends from a number of varied cultures have been fused together. Blended, as it were. They appear so disjointed, we believe, because they are wound together like a data encryption. We must untangle the various languages so that we may better understand the events foretold in date order."

The vampire looked at him. "Date order?"

"Yeah," Doyle cut in, "See, there's some stuff in Gaelic that I started cutting into for 'em... stuff that's already happened, like..." he cleared his throat, "Like you goin' all Angelus and trying to get the world sucked into Hell a coupla years ago. And there's something about Buffy's rebirth after the battle with the Master. But... I can't make out a lot of it... been a few generations since our folk spoke the teanga mathair, you know?"

Angel nodded, his expression impassive. "I can take care of the rest. What other languages are we talking about?"

"Ah," Giles consulted his notes, "From what we've gathered so far, we've found distinct passages in Old French, Gaelic, Latin, Sanskrit, Aramaic, Da'Naakan, Romanian, Italian... and several that we have yet to identify. We assume they're either dead human languages, or demon of some sort."

"Demon prophecies?" Angel queried, surprise clear in his voice, "Why would anyone go to all the trouble of gathering the legends of demon cultures? And why this particular mix of human and demon?"

"That, I'm afraid," Wesley sighed, "We don't know. Nor do we know whose work this material actually is. It could be the Initiative, or some other group devoted to the history of the War between Good and Evil."

"We are fairly certain that it's not the Watchers' Council," Giles added, "They denied the existence of any such documents."

"Of course, they could just be lying," Cordy piped in, "Considering you both got pink slipped and all..."

Wesley shot her a glare. "I would be inclined to agree, Cordelia, if it weren't for Travers' rather... enthusiastic insistence that we share whatever we find from this."

"It doesn't matter who wrote it," Angel interrupted testily, "What does it say?"

"Read what you have there," Giles instructed.

Angel read the materials before him, swiftly skimming the pages. When he finished, his gaze was marked with fear as it rose to the others once more.

"A Master rising."

Giles nodded. "I'm afraid so. And we must assume that 'The Place Where the Light Touches Hell' refers to Sunnydale."

Angel shivered involuntarily, the memory of his shared nightmare with Buffy coming back to the forefront of his mind. And what the Grandmother had said to Buffy... what he felt as it rocked through her soul: "The demon will try to loosen your soul, in order to break free."

Wesley caught the shadow that passed over Angel's features. "Angel, is something wrong?"

His thoughts snapped back to the present, and the look vanished, quickly replaced by his usual inscrutable one. "Other than dealing with a Master? No. But we should get to work on finishing these translations. As soon as possible."

//Before any of it comes true...//

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Buffy. I didn't expect to see you here," Faith said, rubbing her hair dry with a towel as she looked at her sister Slayer.

"I need to talk to you."

Faith sat down in the nearest chair, and leaned toward her.

"Okay... talk. "

Buffy threw a glance over at Spike, who lay propped up against the pillows on the bed, wearing only jeans and a pound of donut crumbs.

"Can we, uh... go for a walk, or something?" Buffy asked, jerking her head in the vampire's direction.

"Don't leave on my account," Spike mumbled, desperately wishing that they would. All this Slayer power, with the extra personal tension, was making his feet itch.

"What?" Faith looked at Spike for a moment, as if she'd forgotten he was there. "Oh, yeah. Sure."

Without a word, the two women stepped out into the warm noonday sun. Buffy sat on the steps nearby, and Faith slowly sunk down into a crouch beside her.

Buffy took a deep breath. "Listen, Faith... I've been doing some thinking... "

The brunette looked at her, waiting, but said nothing. She could still hear the residual fear and anger touching the edges of Buffy's calm voice.

"I haven't really been fair to you," she went on, "I've been...too angry to really think about what you must be going through. And to tell you the truth, I still don't know if I trust you. But Angel does... and... the fact is, we're sisters, whether I like it or not. So it's... kind of my duty to stand by you if you need me."

"Buffy..." Faith began to interrupt.

Buffy held up a small hand. "No, wait. Let me finish. I'm not saying we'll ever be friends. But... we do have to be allies. Something... really bad is coming. And I need you at my back when it does. I need to be able to count on you, without question."

Faith leaned closer. "You can, B. I'm on your side. I swear."

Buffy raised her gaze and looked Faith squarely in the eye. "Even though you're sleeping with the enemy?"

Faith stared at her for a moment, then laughed. "You mean Spike? Oh, Buff..."

The elder Slayer stared in confusion.

"You don't have to worry about Spike, Buffy. He goes where the ass and the smokes are."

Buffy cringed. "Why doesn't that make me feel any better?"

Faith sat fully down beside her on the step. "Listen. I need to be useful. And backing you and Angel up makes me useful. I'm not turning my back on that again. No matter what. I owe you guys bigtime."

Buffy sighed. "Okay. The fact is, I don't have time to worry about it. I'm just going to have to take your word for it."

The two women were quiet for a while, lost in thought.

"Buffy?"

"Yeah."

"Have you, uh... have you been having weird vampire dreams lately?"

Buffy's eyes went wide.


	12. The End of the World... Again.

Riley stood at full attention, feet nailed to the floor, arms rigid at his sides, eyes front.

He was in trouble. Big trouble. And the last thing he wanted Commander Walsh to see was the way his hands were shaking. Hell, the way every inch of him was shaking, head to toe.

Women. He swore silently to himself that he would never touch another woman again as long as he lived. Which, considering his recent acts of High Treason in what the Initiative considered wartime, might not be very long.

Commander Walsh sighed deeply.

"I'm concerned, Agent Finn," she declared, standing before him and looking into his face. She was over a foot shorter than he was, and still, her presence made him shudder inside.

Riley said nothing.

"Do you know why?" she went on.

He clamped his jaw, hard. "Yes. I believe I do, ma'am."

Commander Walsh examined his face closely, worrying at her bottom lip.

"Would you like to share your theory with me?"

His eyes dropped for a millisecond as he cleared his throat. "Ma'am. Because I... allowed Subject 1S to escape, ma'am."

The elder woman chuckled. The lack of mirth in the sound heightened Riley's tension considerably. "Allowed. Hmm. Well, I imagine technically, your actions could be seen that way. However, you've left out the fact that you also assisted said Subject, and several of her friends, including Hostile 17, to facilitate the escape of Hostile 39."

Riley said nothing. What could he say? They probably had the whole incident on enhanced digital video, so that his seditious actions could be seen clearly even in darkness.

She stared up at him for another moment, then moved away. "And that's not all, is it, Agent Finn? Not only did you assist in the escape of two of our central subjects, but you stole several gigabytes of information regarding their particular... interest to us."

He hadn't been certain what he'd downloaded from the mainframe... he simply copied every file he could find that referred to Subject 1S - Faith. There had been no clue that Angel was a particular target, or that the files said anything about him at all, that he saw. How had his employers known about the souled vampire? He hadn't even have any idea, before Faith told him.

"Yes, ma'am." No use letting her know that she'd piqued his curiosity.

Right now, he was fighting for his career, and quite possibly, his life. The former of which, he wasn't certain meant that much to him anymore, considering the things that he was swiftly beginning to realize about his mission. And the latter... might not mean much to them.

Commander Walsh perched on the edge of her desk, arms crossed over her chest, and stared at him for a long, tense moment. "Do you know what was in those files, Riley?"

Her use of his given name did nothing to ease his tension. In fact, his back spasmed from its increase, and sweat began to pour out of his skin. "No, ma'am."

"At ease, Captain."

Riley let his posture relax, but only a little.

"Riley, please. Relax. Have a seat."

He eased into a chair in front of her. She continued to consider him with her hawk-like gaze. Riley concentrated on keeping his expression appropriately serious, but neutral.

"Agent Finn, you've been with the Project for how long, now?"

"Three years, Commander."

She rolled her eyes slightly. "This is an informal conversation, Riley. Please call me Maggie. Aren't we friends?"

Riley frowned. "I thought we were."

Maggie's eyebrows shot up in surprise at his tone. "And what has brought that into question?"

Anger roiled in his gut as he thought of everything the Initiative had done to Faith. "I don't think I understand the mission statement anymore, Maggie." He emphasized her name just enough to show that he wasn't comfortable using it. She had been his mentor... almost a second mother, since he began his training. Now, he couldn't be certain he knew her at all.

"I understand you feel left out of the loop. But you know as well as I do that this is a top-secret project, and we are all informed on a need-to-know basis."

He glared at her for a heartbeat. "With all due respect, ma'am, but if you expect me to lead this project, don't you think I need to know?"

She nodded slowly. "Yes... Although I was hoping to keep you safely ignorant of our central mission until absolutely necessary, I'm afraid your recent actions are proof that this is no longer an option."

He kept waiting for MP's to burst through the door and cart him away. Or for Commander Walsh to pull a pistol from her desk and just shoot him on the spot. The fact that neither happened did nothing to allay his concern.

Riley watched her, waiting for her to continue, as she moved around her desk and sat in the high-backed leather chair behind it.

"You're a Christian, aren't you, Riley? A Methodist, if I'm not mistaken."

This was a completely unexpected turn in the conversation, and for a moment, he couldn't think of the words to respond. "Yes, ma'am."

Maggie nodded once more, steepling her fingers as she leaned across the desk toward him. "Are you familiar with 'Revelations'?"

He blinked. Curiouser and curiouser. "Ma'am?"

"'The Holy Bible', son. Do you know what it says about the End Days?"

Riley straightened his posture. "The Revelation of Jesus Christ, which God gave unto him to shew until his servants..."

Commander Walsh ended his recitation with a terse wave. "Of course you know it. Your mother must be proud."

He frowned, but said nothing.

"'The Bible' is only one of several dozen or more documents that we are aware of, written by people and eras so diverse, it boggles the mind. And most, like all prophecy, are truth coated in nonsense, fables, and riddles. But they all point decidedly to one thing."

She paused, and dramatic tension clutched the air to near unbreathability.

"The end of the world," Riley finished for her.

Maggie's eyes locked to his. "That's right, Agent Finn. The end of the world. Here. Now."

* * *

Buffy sat back and waited for her story, and Faith's, to sink in. Wesley gaped unabashedly, his face flushed. Her friends exchanged assorted looks of fear, scorn, or concern. Anya looked characteristically disinterested. Spike grinned like he was watching his favorite soap.

Giles, the person whose reaction she was most concerned about, besides Angel's, wore absolutely no expression at all. Buffy wasn't quite sure how she should feel about his apparent detachment. Was he so angry that he couldn't speak, or were his Watcher Wheels turning too hard to allow room for words?

Willow was the first to break the silence. "Umm... guys? I think Tara and I found something that'll make this worse."

All eyes turned to the blushing redhead.

"Yes?" Wesley urged.

She gulped, glad that Tara sat so close, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

"We, uh... we translated some of the Etruscan, and..." Willow glanced down at her memo pad, "'Of the Chosen and the Cursed, bound to Those Who Stand Between, it is said, guard the Gate." She glanced up briefly. "Or it might be 'portal'. Or maybe 'hole,' we're not sure. 'For this is the door to the realm of All, and so shall come the Sisters of Light and Shadow, who are the Key. The Key and the Keepers shall bind, and open the Gate unto the Host, and all will be made... waste.' Or, maybe, 'new'."

Wesley blanched visibly. "Willow, there's rather a great distance in meaning between the two, don't you think?"

Willow's blush deepened, and she shrugged apologetically. "It's a really weird form of Etruscan. Different than the one we use for Wiccan magick. It's... older, I think. Some of it, we can't read at all. But the gist of it is that these people... are going to open some gate to another dimension, and let something really BIG out of it."

Giles' mask of neutrality finally slipped. He turned suddenly feverish eyes to Buffy. "What did you say to Angelus in your dream?"

Buffy started. In the wake of Willow's oh-so-cheerful recitation, she had almost forgotten about the nightmare. "Oh. Um. 'The two will be one. The four will be one. The six will be the Key, and...'" she faltered.

"'You and all your unholy seed will be banished to the pits of Hell,'" Angel recited flatly.

She turned slowly to look at him, and he gave her the worst imitation of a smile she had ever seen. She returned it, fairly certain hers was no better. The distance between them was almost palpable.

The more Faith had told Buffy about her version of the Angelus dreams, the more frightened and angry the Primary Slayer had become. An army of vampires. A Council of Demon Elders. A powerful Master -- though in Faith's view, the blonde female vamp she'd been standing behind on stage was the one in charge. Darla. Faith reported that she hadn't really seen Angelus as much as felt him, like someone had put a veil over her eyes where he was concerned. She did, however, understand exactly what the two little girls were singing.

Unfortunately, she couldn't remember the words.

Angelus. Buffy frowned to think that even as hard as she'd fought, even driven as deep as she had forced him, trapped behind a wall of stone and bound by her own hand and heart, still he was reaching out to destroy them.

"Hm," Giles murmured, picking up one of the thick folders on the table before him.

"Hm? Giles, I don't believe that 'Hm' is really the sort of clarification we were looking for. Have you something to add?" Wesley chided.

"That's his thinking noise, " Willow informed him.

"No, Will, his thinking noise is smoother, like 'hmmmmm.' The curt 'hm' is more his, 'I-really-need-to-wildly-cross-reference-this-piece-of-the-jigsaw-because-it-doesn't-fit-with-any-of-the-others,'" Xander corrected his best friend.

"Be that as it may, Giles, do you care to tell us what you've surmised?"

Angel sat away from the others as much as he could manage without being obvious. His skin felt raw and oversensitive, his senses too sharp to be comfortable. The closer he was to the others, the more he felt like his blood was full of glass.

Especially where Buffy was concerned. Blocking her was draining his already depleted energy.

He had no choice. There was no way he was going to let her feel any of what he remembered experiencing in the nightmare. Or what he feared it implied. No. Angelus was not breaking free. Not now, not ever again. He would destroy himself first.

Giles finally raised his eyes from the page. "The Eleven Tribes."

Which statement only intensified the confusion of his young family, the only exceptions being Wesley... and Angel.

"The Council of Sha'an Tal?" the vampire inquired, his interest now driven back to the heart of the matter. "Do you think this is their work?"

"It could be..." Giles replied.

"Yes! Yes! Rupert! Why didn't we see this before! It's so clear!" Wesley yelped, snatching the papers from him.

"Chantal... A Council about perfume?" Cordy asked, showing her first positive interest in the conversation.

"No. Not Chantal, Sha-ahn-tahl," the elder man elaborated, "A meeting of the tribes of man to prevent Armageddon. It convenes every 1000 years... or at least, in the past, it did. Seers and prophets from the most magickally powerful human cultures had a summit with those of the more agreeable supernatural races."

"The other languages!" Wesley cut in, "Of course! Da'naakan -- they're neutral demons. That would mean, I venture, that this language," he poked furiously at words that no one could see, "Would be Lunatcian -- the speech of the Shapeshifters!"

Buffy was getting progressively more confused. "Wait. Werewolves?"

"Not just wolves, Buffy. All sorts of creatures able to change their shape either by magick, curse, or will," he clarified.

"And the odd-looking Etruscan would be the common language of several of the neutral and good non-human species," Giles added.

"This has exactly...what to do with Buffy and Faith's dreams?" Anya asked. She'd heard of the Council of Sha'an Tal, of course. When the last one was held, she was only an underling, and hadn't been allowed to attend or even read the results. But she wasn't about to open her mouth about her knowledge again -- another 24 hours of her butt melting into a chair was not on her agenda.

"Don't you see? These dreams -- what Buffy said to..." Wesley's eyes flicked uncomfortably to his employer and back again, "The Vampire Elders... is almost word for word the final edict of the last Convention. And these documents, I believe, must be the letter of that gathering. The Great Prophecies, as handed down for the past thousand years." He turned toward Giles. "But how on Earth did the Initiative manage to unearth them when they've been thought so long lost?"

* * *

"Now," Riley repeated.

Commander Walsh nodded gravely. "The signs have been manifesting for some years. Our government began the Initiative in preparation for the War to come. Training soldiers to fight the beasts... Developing weapons effective against magickal forces... And making allies in the more... supernatural quarters of interest in the conflict."

He furrowed his brow, some small understanding beginning to dawn on him.

"Supernatural, like... the Slayer."

Maggie smiled. "Very good, Riley. All of our associates agree... the Slayer... or rather, Slayers, and their friends are central in the fight against the forces of the extraterrainian dimensions."

"That's why you took Faith."

"Yes. Her... particular mental condition made her a risky proposition, but with some fine-tuning of our cerebral SubT circuitry, we thought we might be able to get it under control. In time, we were interested in recruiting her directly... and voluntarily... into the Project. Our Secret Weapon, so to speak."

"Then... you knew about Buffy."

"Of course. But she is the concern of other parties in this conflict, who insisted that she remain outside our influence, carrying out her duties as she always has. She and the vampire were certain to be involved in their own capacity. But Faith... her former employers were very concerned about her condition. Far more interested in... neutralizing her possible effects on what was about to happen than in retaining her services. Until we introduced them to our unique training methods, of course. Then they were more than happy to release her to us, and gave their assurances that both their authorities, and local ones, would turn their attentions elsewhere."

Riley flinched at the implication of the word "neutralization." And as his superior officer went on, the sensation that he had fallen into the rabbit hole, and was now hurtling toward something unbelievably sinister, set his innards to shaking once more.

"But why capture Angel, if he was to be left alone according to our... associates?" he asked. Though the explanation Maggie gave put a great many things in order, it seemed to throw just as many out of place.

She waved the question away. "Curiosity, nothing more. We're familiar with SubT cultures that consider themselves good or neutral, but... imagine, Riley...a human with demon qualities? I'd so hoped that we could learn a great deal more about him than what the prophetic nonsense describes." She sighed, looking almost wistfully into space. "What an incredible soldier he would make."

Riley stared at her, his anger, confusion, hurt and sense of duty battling for control of his reactions. "But Faith and Angel are back with the others. What do you intend to do about that? And about me?"

Maggie's gaze returned to him once more. "Unfortunately, we don't have the time or resources to spare in recovering the subjects, right now. We'll have to hope that the Primary Slayer's group will keep them in line. And you... well. We need you, Riley. You're far more important to this operation than any Slayer or 'demon with a soul.'"

His response to that was unconsidered and automatic. "You're going to let us go?"

Her smile was cold. "We really don't have any choice. Other foretold events are already coming to pass -- quickly. It's been brought to my attention that a rather large contingent of SubT Group G's is migrating toward the West Coast as we speak. Thousands of them, from every corner of the globe. Something big is about to happen, and for now, that must be our top priority."

"An army of SubTG's?"

"That's correct, Captain. An army of vampires," she affirmed.

* * *

Angel packed hastily, not bothering to fold any of his or Buffy's clothes as he threw them in one duffel, while Doyle gathered what weapons he'd brought in another.

The half-demon's boss was never the overly cheerful or loquacious sort, as a rule, but his current state of downright despondent gloom was unusual even for him.

"So... you think Ol' Gramma'll be able to help?"

//Small talk. Loosen' 'im up, just a little.//

Angel grunted.

Doyle tried not to sigh out loud. "Was that a 'yes' ug, or a 'no' ug? Just out of curiosity."

The weary vampire stopped his hurried shoveling motion and turned to look at his partner.

"It's a 'we don't have time to talk about it right now'," he replied, trying not to sound as upset or impatient as he felt.

"Ah. Right." Doyle nodded his understanding, and slid the last small axe into the bag. "Listen, brother... I know yer not in the mood fer talk, but... I'm worried about ya, man. You've been... sick for a bit, now. Are you sure this is da time for runnin' off for a weekend in the mountains with a bunch of werewolves?"

Angel resumed his actions. "We don't have a choice. We need the Grandmother's help. Now."

This time, his partner did sigh out loud. "Yeah, what about that? Angel..." Doyle halted Angel with a grip on his arm. "Man... are ya feelin'... well... Angelus-y?"

Angel tensed, then straightened and looked his friend in the eye. "No. But that doesn't mean I can afford to ignore the possibility. The prophecies... the Sha'an Tal... the Elders... Whether the dreams are literal or not, we have to find out what's happening to us. Buffy and I..." He stumbled, his voice breaking, and slouched, the pain of it sapping what little strength and will he had left, for a moment. Then, he regained his determination, and stood tall once more. "We just have to go. And I need you and Cordelia to get Faith in to see the Oracles."

Doyle could taste whatever it was that Angel was choosing not to tell him. The empathic ability of his demonic blood made it hard to miss. Were Angel and Buffy having difficulties with the link? Or was it more personal than that? He had no problem with breaking the Recovering Evil Slayer into the Hall of the Shiny Blue Ones, but his primary concern still fell on what lay ahead for his souled friend and that friend’s mate.

In normal times, Doyle would pry a little. Ask point blank if Angel and Buffy were having troubles. Of course, he'd either get an enthusiastic, "NO!" or some subtler rebuff, but he'd try.

Of course, right now wasn't a normal time. So he kept packing. "We'll take care of it. Don't worry."

* * *

"Stop fucking touching me!"

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"Big effin' deal. I'm not scared a’ you, Kitten."

"You should be. And stop fucking calling me kitten, you big leech!"

"Why?" Spike purred, nuzzling up to Faith's neck.

She smiled softly in spite of her annoyance, but shoved him off. "Because I'm not your goddamn pet. And get off me. I'm trying to think."

"Thought I smelled smoke," the blond vampire grinned, "What's the matter, can't think when I'm on you?" He reached for her again. Faith chuckled as she dashed away, then hauled off and landed a stunning right hook to his jaw. Spike leered at her, licking the blood from his split lip and growling playfully.

"Mm. I love it when you get tough, Slayer." He grabbed her roughly, devouring her mouth with an aggressive kiss that left her weak in the knees.

She shoved her lover away. "I-if you don't... cut the shit, you're whiskbroom food," she panted half-heartedly.

Spike cocked a mocking brow at her. "Oh yeah? I'd like to see you..."

"SHUT UP OR I'LL STAKE YOU BOTH!!!" Buffy screeched, ceasing her pacing and nailing them with a wild glare. She'd done a couple hundred laps of the mansion's living room, pointlessly reading and re-reading the translations of the Sha'an Tal, which, even in English she didn't understand. The obviously (//and incredibly creepy//) affectionate banter between her sister Slayer and Angel's Childe was giving her seizures.

The twosome stopped and gave her matching shocked expressions.

"Jeez, B. We're just playing," Faith insisted.

Buffy looked away. "Yeah, well. This isn't recess. We have things we have to do. The two of you are going to L.A."

"Oh, wait, now, princess! I'm not going to Poofyville. I've got things to do here," Spike informed her. "This isn't my business. I'm no White Hat."

Faith shot him a glare. "If you want to be with me, you are."

He glowered back. "You're not that good, Precious."

Buffy advanced on them, shaking a finger in their direction like the mother of a couple of misbehaving children. "You listen to me," she hissed, "You're BOTH going. Spike... you're going to keep an eye on her, and you're going to LIKE it, or you can forget about Amnesty! Angel and I will BOTH hunt you down and dust you the way we should have years ago! Am I making myself clear???"

Vampire and Slayer continued staring at her. Spike was tempted, for a moment, to stand his ground and dare her, but the murder in her eyes told him that wouldn't be the healthiest idea.

The blonde was shaking. Shaking so hard, the papers she held in her hand rattled loudly in the still air.

"DID YOU HEAR ME!?" It came out half-enraged bark, half-sob, and tears began streaming down her face.

Spike cringed. "Yeah. I heard you."

Faith took a step toward her sister. "Buffy..."

Her eyes came up to Faith's, full of fear, pain and tears that had been building up inside her for weeks. She didn't know anymore what hurt... what she was afraid of. All of sudden, it was everything. The whole world. The universe. All out to get the Chosen One.

But the Chosen Other came forward, and without hesitating, took Buffy into her strong arms, hugging her tightly as she broke down.

"It's okay, Buffy. Everything's okay. We'll do whatever we have to, to help." She pulled her sister away, and wiped the tears from her eyes. "And... if it comes to... I'll take care of it, okay?"

Buffy blinked for a moment, the realization of what Faith was intimating hit her like a ton of bricks falling on her head. What little control she'd managed to reclaim dissolved, and she fell back into the brunette's arms.

Spike thought about it for a moment, trying not to look at the Slayer crying... and the other Slayer with her arms around her... and the way the dark hair mixed with the light, and two sets of firm, high breasts set so close together...

"Hey, WAIT A MINUTE!" he shouted with sudden realization, "Like HELL! If anybody's stakin' me old Sire, it's gonna be ME!"

Both women shot him horrified glares.

" 'Course... it won't come to that, I'm sure," he grumbled.

* * *

The Call sounded at sunset, loud and clear, echoing off the mountains, flying like birds of sound through the forest.

The Call sounded, and the Pack came. The family gathered without question, without wonder from wherever they hunted in the trees, wherever they slept out under the moon, wherever in the mountains they were living. Some came in mated pairs, some in groups, others one by one, as to their preference, but all came.

And by the time the Call ended an hour later, the Council House was filled to the rafters with Pack.

The old woman stood before them, examining each familiar face -- some that had been in the forest so long, she couldn't recall the last time she’d seen them. Children she hadn't set eyes on since their birth. But she knew them all. They were all her children.

And now she must tell them that the time had come when they might need to lay their lives down for the world. For all that called itself Good and Light.

They sat on the furniture, on the tables, on the floor. Some sat at her feet, gazing up at her as though she were the Great Mother herself. All of them knew, from the eldest to the newly born. All of them knew what she was about to say.

She made eye contact with her most favoured child, the red-headed boy with the soulful brown eyes, and smiled at him. He returned the smile... so knowing. So wise. She raised her eyes once more.

"My family. It is time. The Great Warriors come this night, and their arrival heralds the arrival of the O'hroln Bahnh -- The End Times. Make yourselves ready. Do not stray far from the Compound. We will find room in the cabins for everyone. Prepare, my children, for the Great Battle is upon us."

She set her cane down on the floor with a crack, turned, and shuffled from the room. After a moment, the Pack realized their audience was ended, and wandered out in a throng, murmuring amongst themselves. Emma leaned in the doorway to her chambers, and wondered how long it would be until the Warriors and their Mages arrived.

"Grandmother..."

She turned stiffly to see her foster son, and could not help but smile at him again. "My Daniel..." she called him, running a hand across his smooth cheek. How strong he'd become. How powerful. He would someday make a fine Alpha.

If he survived.

"When will they come?" he asked softly. Daniel always spoke softly, with reverence and a wisdom no child his age should need to possess. "And... who's coming?"

Ah. Emma's smile grew, and she laid her other hand on the opposite cheek. "You know, my son. Can't you smell them?"

He was still for a moment, then a grin snuck across his usually stoic features. "Willow."

Emma crinkled her eyes at him. "Yes. And her friends. The Little Warrior. The Souled One. The Watchers, and..."

"And Tara," he finished for her.

She cocked a grizzled eyebrow at him. "Is this all right with you?"

Oz shrugged. "Why not? She's cool."

Emma chuckled and gave his shoulders a squeeze. "It's time you had a mate. Or two." Feeling him tense beside her, she leaned on him. "But that is for later. Help me to my chamber, would you, child? I need to rest before they come. There is much work ahead, and all of us will need our strength."


	13. Onward to Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: Angel calls Buffy "Precious" ("Luachmhar"), then "Breath of My Soul" ("anail a m'anam").

The silence in the car was so thick; it pounded against the inside of Angel's skull like a hammer as they drove toward the mountains.

So much always standing between them, since the day they met. Species, age, natures, experience, needs... The cruel hands of Fate. Lies. Secrets. Separation. Hurtful words.

Now silence. This thing, this magick Buffy had invoked to save him, this bond that was supposed to bring them closer than ever...

Was now driving them apart. Again.

Buffy leaned against the passenger's side door, as far away from him as she could be without jumping out and running alongside the car. Her physical distance wounded him, but not nearly as badly as the thick walls that had sprung up around her mind. In the past, even when they weren't literally linked, Angel could always read her. Knew more or less what she was thinking and feeling without much effort. To him, she was always a beautiful, complex book, wide open for him to read.

Now she was hiding so well he could feel nothing of her at all. Her face was expressionless, her posture neutral, and she even seemed to huddle her living warmth around her like a shield, when usually she shared at least that much of herself with anyone in her vicinity. Now she drew herself together, physically and spiritually, so removed from him, he thought the utterly foreign sensation of isolation would tear him in two.

All these months together... all the years they'd known one another and everything they'd survived... and now in an instant, they were practically strangers?

He'd touched Buffy's very soul. Tasted her life's essence--her fierce, beautiful energy-- the same way that he once had her blood. And like that precious elixir, the draught of her light had saved him -- brought him back yet again from the brink of Final Death.

If he was never allowed to feel her again... He was certain he would starve without her. Wither away to the husk of the creature he might have become if he had never set eyes on her lovely face at all.

Angel's instinct was to reach out to her through the link. Take her soul in his the way he might take her body in his arms when she needed comfort... or when he did.

But wasn't that the problem? Wasn't that what was really forcing them apart-- the taint of his soul? Its malignancy almost annihilated her. It was clear -- this binding had been a mistake. Buffy should have destroyed him, not enslaved herself to his evil for eternity. His spirit wasn't worthy of touching hers -- a fact he'd always suspected...sometimes even believed. But the tenacity and tenderness with which Buffy gave him unconditional love allowed him to overlook it, for a while.

It always came down to the fundamentals: he was a demon with a heart black as pitch. And she was the Slayer -- a being of pure light. The nightmare they had shared the previous night simply served as another cold splash of reality that he couldn't ignore.

The time for denial was past. Only one simple fact remained-- it was her sacred duty to exterminate him, as it was to kill all of his kind. She had shirked that duty once too often, and paid dearly again and again. Next time, the cost might be more than her life... or even her soul. The price might be the lives of every living thing on this planet.

"That's not true."

Angel glanced at her out of the corner of his vision. "What's not?"

Her furious gaze riveted on his face. "What you were just thinking."

So she had been trying to read him, as well. It almost made him smile.

But not quite.

"I thought I was blocking you," he said lightly, bringing his eyes back to the road. It was far easier and less painful to concentrate his attention on the lines and slowly dwindling traffic on the mountain highway than on her distance... or the anger in her eyes.

"You were. But... much like most other areas, I'm stronger than you are."

That did make him smile. "True."

Buffy reached out to take his hand from the steering wheel, and he felt a wave of warmth wash over him from where their fingers entwined.

"Angel, please don't add this to your list of things you think you need to be punished for."

Her tone was gentle, meant to comfort, but still left little doubt that she meant it. And it did nothing to soothe him. He tried to clamp his mouth shut over the words that threatened, but they sounded so loudly in his mind, there was no way to hide them from Buffy's strong psychic touch.

'How can you say that? There's a Master about to rise, and every indication seems to point to that Master being ME. Do you really want to have to face... Him... again? After last time? And with an army standing behind Him?'

'He's just a part of you, Angel. I know how to deal with him.'

Too much. Her casual dismissal of the true danger she was facing only fired his frustration, burning away rationality as easily as restraint.

'Really! You mean like you did the other night when he tried to suck out your SOUL? Or do you mean the time when you *fucked* him, and let him drink your *blood*???'

Buffy started visibly, and yanked her hand away. "How DARE you throw that in my face? I did what I did to SAVE you! Damn it, Angel, I NEED YOU! ALL OF YOU! And as long as Angelus is part of you, I NEED HIM TOO! WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO ACCEPT THAT HE *IS* YOU!?"

Angel stomped on the brakes so hard; they skidded several yards down the tarmac before screeching to a halt. The few cars behind them on the highway honked angrily as they passed, barely managing to avoid a collision.

He turned on her, enraged beyond control, game face sliding on, eyes glowing with amber fury.

"I AM NOT HIM!!!" he roared, "DON'T YOU EVER SAY THAT AGAIN!"

Buffy didn't even flinch, holding him instead with her outraged glare. Were they really having this argument again?

For a dragging moment they glowered at one another, sitting in the middle of Highway 20, vampire and Slayer squaring off.

Angel realized with a jolt what he was doing.

More proof.

He let his human visage return and jerked the car back into the lane.

"So that's it? End of argument?" Buffy challenged, "I'm bad, kill me, period?"

"I don't want to argue about this right now, Buffy," he responded wearily.

She turned in her seatbelt and faced him fully. "When DO you want to argue about this, Angel? Huh? When my guts are splattered all over the floor or I'm getting dismembered in some Apocalyptic battle because YOU feel guilty about being a demon? I'm so SICK of this shit! I knew what you were when I fell in love with you, damn it! And I did it anyway! I know that something dark lives inside of you -- and I don't CARE! What do I have to do to prove that to you?"

Angel said nothing in response to her rant. He kept his eyes on the road and his mind completely blank. 200 years of meditation practice had to come in handy for something.

"Stop the car," Buffy barked.

He looked at her. "What?"

"I SAID STOP THE FUCKING CAR!"

"Buffy, I'm not..."

She yanked on the emergency brake, sending the vehicle careening in a spin onto the shoulder. Angel gripped the wheel frantically, trying to compensate for the motion and keep them from flipping over. As soon as they stopped, Buffy undid her seatbelt and leaped out, stomping up the road.

Angel watched her go, fighting to keep his rage in check. He managed it, just barely... until she stuck her thumb out at the first truck that roared by. With a growl, he jumped from the car and advanced on her.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?" he shouted.

He started when she turned her incensed scowl on him. "I'M GOING TO SEE THE GRANDMOTHER BY MYSELF!"

He froze. "What? Why?"

She marched toward him, her hands on her slim hips. "Because I'm TIRED OF FUCKING PLAYING THIS GAME WITH YOU, ANGEL! I'm TIRED of you punishing yourself for EVERY FUCKING THING that's hard in our relationship! I NEED YOU TO STAND BESIDE ME, NOT FUCKING BEHIND ME!!! Why can't you just let it go? I love you, and I love your God damned psycho demon too, okay? Maybe that makes me a stupid, crazy bitch -- BUT I DON'T CARE!!!"

"Stop it." He spoke softly, now... complete loss of control far too close to choke out another word. He simply could not bear to hear her insinuate that she loved that... monster.

Buffy advanced another few steps. "No, YOU STOP IT! I am NOT going to kill you! Do you understand me? And you're NOT unworthy of me! How do you think knowing that you think that makes me feel? You think I LIKE the fact that my love makes you want to DIE???" Her voice choked at the end, and for the millionth time in the past two weeks, tears spilled down her face. "We don't know what the dreams mean. We don't know why we're having this problem with the link. Please don't let this come between us. We've come so far... We can figure this out together... Unless you give up."

That did it. The rein he'd held on his aggravation snapped. "GIVE UP? THIS ISN'T ABOUT GIVING UP, BUFFY! AND IT ISN'T JUST ABOUT *US*, EITHER! I don't have to have some Gypsy HAG tell me what all this means -- I'VE LIVED WITH THIS... THING INSIDE ME FOR 250 YEARS! I WAS *IN* THAT DREAM! I WAS THE ONE WITH THE SWORD, REMEMBER? I WAS THE ONE WHO WANTED TO WATCH YOUR BLOOD SPILL ALL OVER THAT CHAMBER! *I* WANTED IT!" He slammed his hands to his chest in illustration. He took a menacing step toward her, and his voice dropped to a deadly growl. "Do you think you've gone toe-to-toe with Angelus, huh? You think you faced him down? Tough little Slayer. You can't beat what lives inside me with love and a little magick, girl. You don't know the half of what I'm capable of!"

For a moment, she stood, frozen, shaking in the cold of his fury. But then her eyes narrowed, and she got in his face. "No. You're right. You know why? Because you never TALK TO ME! You're too busy trying to PROTECT ME from you! I don't WANT you to protect me! I'm not afraid of you!"

Angel snarled and grabbed her arms roughly. "No? Well you SHOULD BE!"

In a blinding flash, both felt it -- suddenly, it was four years ago, and he was clutching her just like this, raining anger and worry down on her, telling her that his kisses weren't a fairy tale, but a nightmare. And she held that gaze, just as she did then, when she'd told him that his kisses made her want to die.

Anger whooshed away, and the flash was gone, leaving nothing but two weary warriors panting at one another on the side of the road, their skin lit pale by the bright headlights of his car. Two lovers who'd been through Hell together, staring into each other's eyes.

"I'm not," Buffy whispered. "Maybe I should be. But I'm not."

He let her go, and stared at her for another heartbeat, then abruptly turned away. "Get back in the car." The door groaned in objection when he slammed it behind him.

With a deep sigh, she complied.

* * *

Willow shivered. It wasn't really cold in the back of the Angel Team's minivan, so she thought it must be the Spike/Faith wiggins washing over her again. Having them sitting behind her was just not giving her the warm fuzzies.

"Feelin' a disturbance in the Force, Obi-Wan?" Spike sniped into her ear.

"Leave the girl alone, you," Doyle growled from further down the bench seat.

"You gonna make me, mick?" Spike growled in response.

"Stake right in my pocket got your name all over it, bloodsucker..." the half-demon hissed.

Faith and Cordelia, crammed in between the two males, rolled their eyes at one another.

"Children, please!" Wesley yipped, "I'm trying to drive!"

"S'only about an hour 'til we get to L.A. Can't you guys keep it in your pants until then?" Faith mumbled. She'd been creeped out all night, frankly. Her Slayer senses wouldn't stop tingling, and she had no clue what was setting them off. Maybe worry about Buffy and Angel, maybe the personal tension of all the barely civil occupants of the van. Whatever. But she was getting a headache she didn't think an industrial drum of Excedrin would even begin to touch.

"I felt it too," Tara volunteered softly, "Like a ripple in the aetheric."

Giles turned in his seat to look at the two Witches. "Ripple... What sort of ripple?"

Willow shrugged. "Like a cold chill."

"It is cold in here," Cordelia complained, "Wesley, do you think you could turn it up past "Meat Locker"? You know... to maybe "Refrigerator"?"

Wesley glowered at her in the rearview, but did as she asked.

Giles frowned. A ripple in the spirit realm. Yet another portent of things to come? Something more immediate? Or perhaps simply a group of people buckling under the pressure of being too long asked to face stressors no being should have to bear?

Well, once they dropped half their number off in Los Angeles, they were going to find out.

He only hoped that Old Emma was prepared for their coming.

* * *

Their arrival at the Sierra Ridge compound was different than any of the others in the past. To begin with, they were challenged by sentinels at the entrance to the logging road -- two enormous males, each bearing both automatic weapons and rapid-fire crossbows at their backs. The elder of the two had to duck a good three feet to peer in the driver's side window. He didn't ask their business, only sniffed them. Which wigged Buffy to no end. And Angel's reaction to the challenge was twice as disconcerting -- he sat ramrod straight, looking directly into the were-dude's eyes, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

It was like falling into a National Geographic Special -- only with a splash of Twilight Zone thrown in for good measure.

All she wanted to do was curl up and go to sleep. Forget about everything that had happened tonight... the past two weeks. And when she woke up, she wanted it to be four months ago, when her waking would be greeted by the aroma of some delicious Angel-prepared breakfast, and a rose and mushy poem on the pillow beside her head.

She didn't want to think about the end of the world anymore... or worse, the end of she and Angel. Again.

But then, had she ever?

The Alpha Challenge lasted less than ten seconds. Then the giant moved aside with a curt nod and let them pass.

Buffy held back all her snide comments about how manly and beastly he was. Now probably wasn't the best time for teasing.

The second Big Weirdness came when they pulled up in front of the Great House. Instead of one or two people coming to meet them, a good crowd of more than 20 waited.

She didn't see a single familiar face. Where were the Grandmother and Oz?

An athletically built man with long silver hair stepped out of the clutch, and opened Angel's door. A young titian haired woman in flowing gypsy robes walked around to open Buffy's. She climbed out and tried not to stare as the woman bowed deeply.

"Welcome, Great Warrior," she murmured reverently.

Buffy blinked. "Uh... Hey. Thanks for having us."

The girl led her around to the other side of the car, where the elder man and the rest of the welcoming committee waited with Angel.

"We're glad to have you among us," he greeted, his voice carrying eerily through the trees, "We've awaited your coming for many moons."

What was with all the formality? Usually Oz would just come out and say, "Hey, anybody for a game of pool?" These people were gazing at them as if they were the Second Coming.

Angel took it completely in stride. He returned the male's bow. "We're honored to be here. Thank you, Elder."

//Since when had he become Mr. Courtly Behavior? Two hours ago, he was all slathering fangs and threatening growls. Now he was perfect manners-boy?//

"Come," the red-haired woman invited, "You must be tired from your travels. We'll show you to your usual quarters, and the Grandmother will take audience with you tomorrow."

The elder man spoke directly to Angel (//Typical male...//), "You may use the tunnels, of course."

Angel nodded. He often did, when they stayed at the compound.

The small throng herded them toward one of the larger central cabins, and with more bowing, groveling, and welcomes, left them alone with their personal tension.

Buffy immediately stretched out on the large bunk and watched Angel build a fire. His movements were slow and deliberate, like they always were when he was stalling for a chance to think of something to say. She felt a pang of mingled sadness, frustration and desire wash through her, watching his big body bend and flex, his brow furrowed, his mouth turned down slightly. So beautiful...

And so deeply troubled.

"So... are you going to talk to me again before the end of the world?"

He tensed visibly for a moment, then forced himself to relax as he turned to look at her. The mixture of emotions on his face matched her own -- the strain of blocking her, his fear and exhaustion, and still, so much love -- and twisted her heart.

"I don't have a lot to say right now," he mumbled, averting his gaze and dragging a trembling hand through his hair, "At least, not anything constructive."

"You're still mad at me."

He looked at her once more. "Very."

Buffy nodded, then patted the empty space beside her on the bed. Angel considered her for a moment, and sat. She took his hand and held it softly to her lips, but he didn't look at her again.

"I love you. I'm sorry to be such a bitch."

He raised his eyes slowly, until they met hers at last. "It's okay. I shouldn't have cursed at you like that."

She grinned. "Not gonna argue with me about the bitch part, huh?"

A hint of a smile quirked his mouth, and he shrugged, but said nothing.

Buffy chuckled, and accepted the truce. There was so much they had to cover. So many issues to get through. But she knew, with the mood he was in tonight, they just weren't going to get anywhere... weren't going to accomplish anything but hurting one another more if they tried.

So... simple comfort. That was what they should focus on until tomorrow. She got up and slipped out of her jeans, leaving only her tee shirt to sleep in, then turned to him, giving a little smile. Angel looked up at her quizzically.

"Bed time," she told him, "Arms up."

He acceded, and let Buffy strip off his sweater. She rejoiced silently to see that his skin was flawless once more. Barely a faded mark left behind as proof that he had nearly died not too long ago. She was tempted to fall to her knees and cover his cool skin with kisses.

.//No. Comfort. Period. Remember what the Grandmother said.//

She took his hand and pulled him to his feet, undoing his trousers without flourish. He obediently stepped out of them, still looking down at her with an expression of confusion.

Once he was clad only in his black silk boxers (a detail Buffy had to struggle to ignore), she turned down the soft comforter and slid underneath. Angel watched, silently.

Buffy reached her hand out to him. His brow furrowed.

She sighed. He was not going to make this simple. She opened the link, and let her feelings slide softly into him.

'Just hold me. Please?'

Angel blinked, then eased down into the bed beside her. She snuggled up close against his chest, and sighed when he finally relaxed and wrapped her in his arms.

Sleep fell over her swiftly, like a second heavy blanket. But before she disappeared into its soothing shadows, he whispered, "Buffy?"

"Mm?"

"I'm sorry. You're not a bitch."

She smiled and pulled him closer, tapping a tiny kiss to the skin above his still heart.

"Thanks."

"I love you, you know. No matter what."

Her smile went deeper, filling her heart. "I know. I love you too. Goodnight, Angel."

"Goodnight, Luachmhar..."

* * *

Doyle could barely get the key to turn in the lock. He'd asked his buddy to make sure the place was in tip-top shape before they got back from their latest crisis in the 'Dale. He wanted the boss to have a nice, safe home to return to.

The half-demon sort-of got Angel's reasoning for buying this place--the whole "snatched back from the jaws of evil" angle. Plus, all the rooms... they'd no doubt come in handy once Armageddon broke out.

But still... cleansed of demon energy or no, the Hyperion gave him the heebie-jeebies.

He clicked on the light. Or rather, he clicked the light switch inside the door. Other than a sputter and crackle, nothing happened.

"Nice place," Faith commented from the shadows behind him.

"Yah, well... it still needs some work."

"Aw, Hell," Spike muttered, "Where's the damn fuse box? I can see well enough."

"Never a Witch around when you need one," Faith snorted.

"Now there's a statement I never thought I'd hear in this group," Doyle grumbled, "Vampire'll have to do. 'Ere. The fuse box is over there to the right. See the main desk?"

"Yeah, I see it." Spike pushed past and disappeared into the darkness of the lobby.

After a few minutes of grumbling and cursing from the vampire, the lights came on.

Faith's eyes went wide as she looked up at the cathedral ceiling, and around at the tiled floors and marble columns.

"Holy SHIT!" She remarked.

"Nice, eh?" Doyle grinned. Despite the few minor problems, and the still weird air of the joint, he had to admit that he was considerably pleased with their new headquarters.

Cordelia made a face, and dragged her two large bags inside. "Contrary to what Angel might think, I am not moving into this stinkhole."

"Ah, but Princess," Doyle said, claiming her larger suitcase under one arm as he slid the other over his shoulders, "Don'cha want to bunk down with the team? Me'n Angel'll be livin' here... and Buffy too, eventually."

She grimaced. "Wow. What a recommendation. No... I don't think I need 'the team' full time, thank you very much. I like my current roommate -- at least his dirty socks are invisible."

Faith sprinted across the cavernous room and flung herself down on one of the overstuffed couches at its center. "Man, I could get used to this!"

Spike rejoined them with a shrug. "Not the nicest place Peaches ever lived. Least not pre-Pouf." He ambled over to Faith's perch, and gave her a smarmy grin. She returned it, and pulled him down beside her, immediately claiming his lips with her own.

"HEY! No face sucking!" Cordy shouted, "We have to go see the Oracles! Besides, it's gross!"

"Yah. Not that I got anythin' against vampire-Slayer tonsil hockey, but... Delie's right. We should get to the post office."

Spike and Faith simultaneously glanced over the back of the couch. "The Post Office?"

* * *

Buffy yawned and stretched lazily. The afternoon sunshine was quickly dissolving her tired muscles into boneless jelly. She let herself fall back against Angel's broad chest, and he fed her another grape from the picnic basket.

"Now this is a dream," she sighed.

Angel chuckled softly, tracing her nose with a fingertip. "I have a feeling a certain ancient Gypsy were-cat is trying to give us a badly needed break."

Buffy closed her eyes. "Well, all hail the Grandmother, then."

He gazed out over the sun-dappled meadow. It was nice to see the daytime world again, even if the shady oak under which they reclined was only a dream. He felt light... like the magick that had sent them here simply brushed all his troubles away in the breeze. Birds sang, children laughed somewhere in the distance. The air smelled like fresh wildflowers, sweet earth... life. And Buffy. Happy Buffy -- a rare, intoxicating aroma of her skin, settled over with an aura of sleepy contentment. Her heartbeat, strong and sure... and... wait.

"Buffy?" He sat up a little straighter, dislodging her from her resting spot. She rose with a half-hearted whine.

"What? I was comfy."

Angel sat absolutely still for a moment, listening.

Her features creased with sudden concern. "Angel? What's wrong?"

A smile burst across his face, and he grabbed her hand, almost knocking her over as he held it flat against his chest.

She left it there for a moment, confused. Then her eyes went wide. "Oh... oh my God."

"My heart..."

"It's BEATING!" They screamed with delight and jumped into one another's arms for a crushing hug.

"I'm alive here!" he cried into her hair.

The pure joy in his voice shivered over Buffy's skin. She lay her head against his breast, and just listened. Angel settled onto his back once more, reveling in the sensation of his heartbeat against his beloved's ear.

Alive. What he most wanted to be... dreamed of being. To live with Buffy... to walk in the sunlight for a finite lifetime of days just like this.

Her hand made lazy circles over the cream-colored linen that covered his hard belly. She slipped it beneath the material, wanting to feel his living warmth again, as she had the honor of doing only once before.

That first contact made them both shiver. But neither feared the touch of the link, here... in this dream paradise, they were nothing more or less than two young, strong human beings so deeply in love that it made the sun shine.

Buffy rolled her weight onto his, her hands paused at the hem of his shirt, and looked her question deep into his eyes.

'May I?'

Suddenly breathless (and in a human, needing breath sort of way) Angel simply smiled his response.

His happiness was contagious. She returned the blissful smile, then brought her attention back to his clothes. She was suddenly starving for the sensation of his flesh against hers, as though it had been a million years since she was close to him, instead of only a few (long... lonely... aching...) days.

This feeling... this wonderful feeling of his pulse beneath her lips... his living heat under her hands as she explored him... There was nothing like it in the world. An experience she'd had only once before, on a day that never happened. She had the memories of that long ago dream. But now, for the first time, it was like she was really living it. Listening to his breath hitch when her tongue traced the cut of his stomach muscles, the rolling rise of his rib cage... His hands hot as they tenderly brushed her bare shoulders, sweeping up her neck to tangle in her hair.

Healing touch... love as its own living, breathing being... Angel's vital body was literally humming beneath her as she climbed up to straddle his hips. The rigidity of his erection as he thrust his hips up into her was different; too... it's slow throbbing now the rhythm of a heartbeat. She arched the entire length of her body against his, feeling his pulse against her breasts... the most erotic sensation she'd ever experienced.

Angel wrapped his arms around her, pulled her even closer, loving that feeling as well... his own heat for once matching hers, rather than being borrowed from the furnace under her skin. The way this true breathlessness made him dizzy, made this magickal haven spin all around his head...

She was wearing a bare slip of filmy ivory; her tanned skin glowing through as the sunshine lit the material to translucence. He slipped his hands under the hem, moaning to find all of her bare and already hot and wet beneath. He traced the valley between her rounded cheeks, down to the quivering, molten cleft below. Buffy's whole form shuddered as he followed the soft line of her outer lips, dipping only the tips of his fingers into her moisture.

She cried out, grinding into his hand as her kisses consumed his mouth, then paused for a clutch of raging heartbeats, tasting his pulse with tiny flicks of her tongue.

The most erotic sensation he'd ever felt.

No... there was nothing that could keep him from touching her... from pouring his love into her with every gasp, every sigh that came from his soul. No power on Earth or in Hell that could keep him from laying his hands on the smooth muscles of her back... running down the slope of her small waist. Nothing. No demon, no magick, no Gods or prophecies.

Buffy skimmed down his frame, plunging her tongue into his belly button as she undid his ivory slacks and pulled them away, revealing his long, hard legs. God, he was beautiful... every inch of him perfect, like a statue. Strong. Exquisite. Hers.

She brushed her cheek against his raging hardness, then turned her face to follow the hot, pulsing length with her lips.

Angel groaned deeply, knotting his fingers in her hair, teasing the sensitive edges of her ears with feather-soft strokes.

Warm... All of him was so warm. Buffy took him deep into her throat, wondering if he would taste differently, too. If his seed would be hot... if she would know by the texture that it too, was alive.

But if it was... there was somewhere else she'd much rather experience it. She released him from her mouth, eliciting a grunt from his chest that was half pleasure, half protest, and climbed his body until they were sex to sex.

Looking into his eyes... God, she remembered that fire so well. And looking at it now... she found that it wasn't so different from what she saw in their fathomless earthen depths every day.

Love. Love that burned down to the bottom of his soul. And hers.

Angel watched her rise up on her haunches, preparing to mount him. That vision itself almost enough to make him come. But there was so much more still to feel, to hear, to taste...

Without warning, he flipped Buffy onto her back, and hovered over, bearing his weight on his hands. A single imperative raced through his entire being:

.//Human taste buds.//

He wasted no time in divesting her of her dress, and tossed it away, forgotten, into the grass as he dove down to devour this most precious meal.

Yes... he remembered this. The salty-sweet heat of her skin... the perfume of her fine sweat... her flesh so ambrosial, so thick with the musk of want...

He moved slowly over and down her curves, tasting every inch with painstaking care until she whimpered, mewling with gratification at his attentions. He made his way vigilantly across her hills and valleys... a tantalizing, hypnotizing buffet of tastes infinitely exquisite.

When Angel reached the apex of her form, he stopped. Buffy writhed and quaked beneath him, begging for his touch, but he wanted this moment--this single, precious moment--to simply feel her heat the way a man would. To take in her unique scent and texture through his human pores, his only barely sensitive nose...

Then the moment passed, and he eased his face forward slowly, tasting first her outer gate, suckling each millimeter of pulsing flesh between gentle lips, then stroking with long laps of his tongue.

Buffy bit her lip to keep from screaming as he devoured her with agonizing delicacy, brushing outside to in, laving every screaming inch of her... over every ridge, down every dip, flicking slowly inside her entrance, then deeper... and finally plunging his stiff, hot tongue full length inside of her.

"OH GOD ANGEL!" she wailed, yanking his hair while at the same time trying to push him closer.

Angel drew his tongue, now soaked with her juices, out of her throbbing core, and ran it upward to the hard signal of just how aroused she was. He moaned softly, sucking the nub tenderly between his lips, tapping its tip with a butterfly stroke.

"Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!" she chanted mindlessly.

He smiled to himself and suckled a little harder... a little faster, easing two fingers inside her.

He'd forgotten she tasted so... damn... good.

Buffy bucked like a wild animal beneath him, yipping in time with his rhythm on her, and in her. He found he could still easily track the level of her pleasure... now by the flux in her taste, the way her muscles pulsed fiercely around his fingers.

She screamed as she came -- an earth shattering, almost unnerving sound of relief and release. When her breath and sense returned enough for gross motor coordination, she reached for him, pulling his body up until they were eye to eye once more.

"Angel... make love to me..." she whispered, a million layers of meaning in her words. Unspoken 'I love you's', 'I need you's', 'I want to feel you like this', and 'Please don't leave me's' echoing silently between their hearts.

He kissed her with infinite tenderness and moved between her legs, pushing himself gently upward... inward... and he shuddered as her body enfolded his, thrusting until he could go no deeper.

They held together that way, unmoving, gazing into one another's eyes, for a long time.

Buffy reached up and traced the beloved lines of his face... his strong brow... his cheekbones... his lips and jaw...

"I love you. More than anything."

He brushed her lips softly with another kiss. "I love you, too.. anail a m'anam... so much."

Angel moved then, following the call of his blood, and the fire... the human, and more than human. Their passion swelled and stretched, inferno blazing higher, sparked by the sweet friction of their bodies flowing together. Buffy clutched him desperately, welcoming him as a man no more and no less than she did as a demon... letting him fill her with his heat as he pressed long, wet kisses to her lips.

The breeze died, the birds stopped singing, the sun smiled calmly down on them as they made love in the tall grass, the only sounds in the universe their sighs and murmurs of love and affirmation. The volume of their music increasing with the pace of their frames locked together...

There would be nothing that could keep them apart. Nothing. Both thought it now, both knew it, and both cried it out to one another as they exploded into bliss, washed away by a crescendo of hope that could never be defeated, not even by the very Hosts of Hell.

Spent at last, Angel collapsed into the grass beside her, and Buffy rolled to curl into his arms. She expected the intensity of the orgasm to wake her... but they were still lying in the meadow, wrapped naked, wet and panting in one another's arms. A single kiss to the top of her head, and Angel was asleep. Buffy listened to the slowing of his heartbeat with a smile then drifted away as well, into the rest of the protected, the cherished, and the loved.

They could wake from this dream in the morning.


	14. You Asked for Answers...

"Blessed be the name of D'Hoffryn. Let this space now be a gateway to the world of Arash Ma'har, where demons are spawned. We come in supplication. We bend like a reed in the River of Time. Let us now see the Gate of Gates, where Ba'Shat, Wifadn and Mantah unite. By Northern Star, Southern Fire, we pray you open the Portal. By Western Sea and Eastern Storm, grant your humble servants entrance!"

Anya finished the chant, but nothing happened. Xander bit back a snide comment about her non-existent demonic abilities.

He didn't think teasing his tranced-out girlfriend was a productive idea.

She took a deep breath and began again. "Blessed be the name of D'Hoffryn. Let this space now be a gateway..."

He had to give his ex-demon honey some credit -- she was putting her all into this little project. Sweat gleamed on her smooth brow, and as she chanted and swayed, a tiny rivulet of blood dripped out of the hand that clutched the amulet her former boss had presented to Willow a few months before.

//Go, Anya, baby!//

The first lightning strike just outside the circle burst his pride like a bubble. He huddled closer to Anya. The room all around them exploded into a violent thunderstorm as she opened her eyes and grinned.

"Yay, me!"

A portal of disturbing blue-gray chaos opened in the eye of the gale, less than a foot away. Anya took his hand and got up, tugging him toward it.

Xander pulled back. "Oh, hey, wait a minute! Nobody said anything about a remake of "Twister", here!"

She gave him a shriveling glare. "You wanted to talk to D'Hoffryn, didn’t you?"

He shrugged. "Not particularly."

"Giles actually gave us a JOB, for once! You are NOT wussing out!"

He glowered at the wind tunnel for a moment, then sighed. "Fine, then. Get me all ripped to shreds, see if I..."

Anya yanked on his hand, and before he got the next word out, they were standing in a nice, peaceful, non-stormy cave.

Filled with really ugly demons.

"O...kay..." he mumbled.

She dropped to her knees and pressed her forehead to the floor. Xander stood frozen for a moment, then followed suit.

//When in Arash Ma'har...//

"Anyanka. You are banished from this place. What is the meaning of your intrusion?"

Anya didn't raise her eyes. "Your Dark Holiness, I come before you to collect on the promise of a Calling Talisman." Gaze still nailed to the floor, she held the amulet up.

The largest demon stepped forward, snatched it from her hand, and examined it closely. "It is legitimate. What do you desire?"

For a split second, Anya hesitated. She hadn't thought about this before. The Calling meant that she could ask for anything it was in D'Hoffryn's power to grant, and he would be obliged to give it to her.

She could ask for her powers back, and he wouldn't be able to deny her. She could be immortal again. Powerful. Immune to all this 'end of the world' nonsense.

Xander peeked at her out of the corner of his eye. His expression was clear:

//WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR???//

Her all-too-human breath caught in her throat. Her mortal heart pounded as she blinked at her mate.

To be a demon again...

* * *

"Always knew the Powers weren't the brightest bulbs in the box," Spike complained, looking up at the archway, "But what kind of wankers put the Gateway for Lost Souls under the Greater Metro Los Angeles bloody Post Office?"

"You said that already," Cordelia sniped. She handed Doyle the bag of stinky herbs they needed to call the Gate. "Like, fifty times. It's under the Post Office. Get over it."

Spike snorted. "Bloody stupid, is what it is."

Faith stared up at the marble arch... Lost Souls... boy, if anybody was one of those, it was her. Was she about to find out her ultimate fate, her true Destiny? Or would these Oracle dudes just turn her into a toadstool for her crimes?

Funny... she felt balanced for the first time in her life. Nowhere close to absolved or forgiven, but like Angel said -- that wouldn't happen overnight.

He should know.

But still -- she felt like herself again. She had a purpose, a calling. All this end of the world stuff made her feel needed. And the acceptance of the Scoobies, even if it wasn't wholehearted... felt good. They'd insinuated her right into their plan as if she belonged there.

Belonging. With one exception, she'd never belonged anywhere. And that last time, with these same people, she hadn't been ready for it, hadn't known what to do with it... how really precious the gift of their friendship was. She pushed it away--hard--and the backwash threw her in the opposite direction. Almost destroyed her. Almost had her buying the twisted affection of a really, really evil guy.

Now, she had a second chance. Like Angel, she wasn't going to waste it.

Faith snickered at herself. She sounded like a frickin' superhero, all full of pride and ready to martyr herself at every turn. She wanted to be useful, sure, but she didn't want to stop being herself -- someone she was starting to learn that she liked. All those months living with Riley, all doped up into a Pollyanna Goodheart, was a joke. Not so long ago, she thought that being that squishy, simpy loser was the only way to get her life back.

Now she knew better.

She watched the bleach-blond vampire pacing restlessly up and down in front of the gateway, smoking a cigarette, glowering at the impenetrable brick wall before him.

And what about Spike? He was a freak factor in all this, too. Supposedly soulless, forced into helping because he didn't really have anything better to do... and complaining, griping and bitching every step of the way.

But he still did what needed to be done. He still took the time to remind her that even though they were both railroaded into positions they didn't have much taste for... they could still have a Hell of a good time along the way. Controlled Chaos, he'd told her. Faith sort of liked him for it.

The fact that he could take her on in the sack didn't hurt, either.

"All right. We're ready here," Doyle called, "Come on over by the altar."

Spike and Faith wandered over to stand behind the half-demon and his beauty queen.

"So, what do we do?" Faith asked, looking down into the herb-packed bowl on top of the pillar.

"Just stand close. When the gate opens, go in and ask the questions Giles gave you," he instructed her.

"Oh, don't forget to give them this." Cordelia handed Faith a small marble statue she'd filched from Angel's place when she'd packed his stuff.

Faith took it and glanced at them. "Aren't you coming?"

Doyle shook his head. "Can't. Only warriors are allowed in."

She jerked her elbow at Spike. "What about him? He's a warrior... sort of."

Everyone stared at the vampire.

"What? Oh, come on!" he griped, "Why do I have to go? I'm no goody-goody soldier!"

Cordy glared at him. "They probably won't let you in anyway. Isn't there that whole 'pure of heart' thing?"

Doyle shrugged. "Only one way to find out." He struck his light, and held the flame into the herbs until they began to smoke. "We beseech access to the Knowing Ones."

* * *

The were-folk had set up cots for the ex-Watchers in the compound's labyrinthine underground library, but naturally, neither man slept.

"Amazing! Absolutely incredible!" Wesley exclaimed now and then as he careened around the room, climbing the ladders into the ten-foot stacks, snatching a volume from the shelves, skimming it, shelving it back, and grabbing another. "What an unbelievable collection! I'm simply... overwhelmed!"

Giles sighed. He shared Wesley's sentiment -- the sheer breadth of information stored in these archives was breathtaking. It would take several lifetimes to peruse them all.

He only wished his fellow ex-Watcher would be a bit more circumspect in his enthusiasm.

"Pryce, perhaps we should try to get some rest. The Archivist will be here to assist us at dawn, and frankly..." He glanced down at the Lunatician volume he held, "I don't think we will progress far without his assistance."

Wesley looked up from the latest tome he was scanning -- a book on the history and lore of Old Emma's people, the Romani. "What? Oh, yes. Yes, of course. Rest." He tucked the book under his arm and descended the ladder, finally easing his weary body down on the second cot, after depositing the rare volume on the table placed between them.

Giles put his own book down and extinguished the lamp. Lying back, he closed his eyes, and tried to will sleep to take him.

Naturally, nothing happened. Many years of training had tuned him to a non-stop, round-the-clock research machine when such was required. Simply telling himself that nothing would be accomplished tonight, and that he needed to sleep, did nothing to help slow his mind.

It fairly spun with all the information they needed to process. Numerous events coming to pass at the same moment. So many portents of things to come. All his life, he'd been preparing for these dark days. Even his rebellious youth had served to make him stronger, more resilient than the average Watcher. Now the time had come for his extraordinary background--and his extraordinary Slayer--to be called into battle. The ultimate test of all they were.

Giles only hoped that he could count on the stability of her mate. In spite of his baser instincts, Giles trusted the man. He had unwavering faith in the valor of the Soul. More than one of the prophecies in their possession seemed to indicate that he would be as central to what was coming as Buffy herself.

But what he did not trust--Bond or no--was the demon that still shared the body with the Soul. Sometimes he still felt the burning of his skin in places where Angelus had violated him with such violent, unrestrained glee - still see Jenny's twisted neck and dead eyes... still hear the Puccini echoing in the background.

As far as he was concerned, however pure Angel's heart... his core was an X-factor Giles could never underestimate.

"Mr. Giles?" Wesley's whisper cut into his dark thoughts.

"Yes."

"I'm afraid that I'm unable to sleep."

Giles sighed and turned on the lamp.

"I wonder if we can get tea this time of morning," he muttered as he rolled out of the cot and reclaimed his book.

* * *

Angel woke at dawn. The irony of the fact didn't escape his notice.

He eased out of bed gently, untangling Buffy's arms with care so as not to wake her. He stood alongside and gazed down at her for a long time, just enjoying the little smile that graced her full lips.

So beautiful. His fierce warrior... his delicate woman. Would he ever deserve her devotion?

He shook away the familiar melancholy, and got dressed. There would be time for brooding later -- after they averted the apocalypse.

The passionate peace of the previous night's dream remained vivid in his memory. While it was happening, when he'd felt his heart beating, felt Buffy's glorious skin all over him... he hadn't taken the time to question. He plunged into all the heady sensations with abandon, not wanting to waste a precious moment wondering what it meant.

Now, as the whisper of contentment filled him with new strength that once upon a time might have endangered his soul, he did.

The dream had the same clarity, the same tactile air of realism, as the nightmare that had so frozen his soul a few nights before. Perhaps the specifics of last night's sweet dream had been manipulated by Gypsy magick, but still...

Angel couldn't shake the feeling that it too was somehow prophetic. Unlike the terror of Buffy's execution, the thought of the warm sunshine... that tranquil meadow... his lover sighing his name in pleasure... To think that might come true gave as much comfort as the other did fear.

He dropped down into the trap door toward the back of the cabin, and began to make his way through the now-familiar tunnels that ran toward the Great House. He knew Old Emma would be waiting for him... probably had been for hours. He had so many questions for her... things he wanted to learn without Buffy listening.

She had railed at him for wanting to protect her. He couldn't help it. After all this time -- even after she took on his demon herself--Buffy still had no inkling of what it was she faced. She thought she loved Angelus? The very idea made his stomach heave. She would not... could not possibly even insinuate such a thing if she knew what a truly twisted, sadistic, insane, purely evil creature It was.

Though the bond kept control of his body firmly in the "hands" of his soul, Angel could still hear It whisper to him. Less a battle now, the sensation of possession had become more like a sort of mild schizophrenia. Always that voice, suggesting horrors, trying to incite chaos inside of him.

That he could now ignore the demon's demands with little effort did nothing to quell his self-loathing.

Angelus still existed. As long as that was true, Angel himself was dangerous to every living thing in this dimension. Most of all, to Buffy herself. As his lover, his mate, she was the most vulnerable -- the one with the least defenses against him, whatever she might think. She would always be the demon's first target.

Something had to be done. Whether Buffy wanted it or not, there was one thing of which he was certain: it was his sacred duty to protect her from that monster.

Angel pulled himself up into the root cellar of the Great House, and almost jumped out of his skin to see Oz standing there.

"Hey," the werewolf said.

"Hey, Oz. How are you?"

"Good. You're up early. Thought you'd be out for a while."

The vampire shrugged and fell in step beside the shorter man as they mounted the exit stairs. "Not tired. Did Willow and the others arrive okay?"

It was hard to miss the brilliant smile that snuck across his face. "Yeah. She and Tara are still sleeping. Giles and Wesley are in with the Lore Keepers."

Angel didn't ask even one of the 500 questions that immediately popped into his head. "Good. They've been through a lot."

"Buffy too," Oz added.

"Yeah."

Oz pushed open the basement door and they stepped into the perpetual shadows of the shapeshifters' central building. It never ceased to amaze Angel how the haze of magick that always hung around the place made the vast rooms feel so homey.

They followed the broad main corridor into the Grandmother's receiving room, where a cheerful fire greeted them, crackling in the hearth. The familiar tingle of the Gypsy woman's wards evoked not the expected discomfort, but instead, a surprising rush of relief that almost drove him to tears.

The Grandmother would help.

Oz conferred a lopsided grin on him. "Most Honored Warrior, the Grandmother will take audience with you, now."

Angel cocked an eyebrow at the oddest formality yet. "Thanks."

The redhead gave his hand a firm shake. "Good luck, man." He chuckled, then wandered off.

Watching him go, Angel wondered what a werewolf did all day long.

"Angelus. Come in, dear. Have some tea," the Grandmother called.

He sighed. Yes. Answers were not so far away, now.

* * *

Xander stared daggers at her as they walked back to his basement after leaving Arash Ma'har. Anya struggled not to cringe.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

His tone was accusatory. "You were going to ask for your powers back."

Anya chewed her lip, but said nothing.

"You were, weren't you? You would leave me just like that?"

She couldn't meet his eyes. "I didn't, did I?"

"No. But you thought about it." He stopped, and tucked a fingertip under her chin, raising her face to look at him. "Why?"

Anya blinked for a moment. His sweet brown eyes were a reminder of all the things that she valued in this dimension -- but still also a symbol of what she'd lost. "Because I don't WANT TO DIE!" she cried, "I don't want to have to stand around here being all mortal and helpless when the world comes to an end!"

Xander jumped, shocked to see tears streaming down his lover's face. Had he ever seen her cry before?

"Hey... sweetie... You're not going to die."

Her miserable attempt at a glare would have been amusing, were it not for her obvious anguish. "Of COURSE I'M GOING TO DIE! THAT'S WHAT HUMANS DO! AND WITH VAMPIRES SWARMING ALL OVER US? I'M JUST A WIMPY MORTAL, AND SO ARE YOU! WE ARE GOING TO DIE!"

Xander captured her face between his hands and kissed her soundly, effectively silencing her. "We're not going to die. And we're not helpless. Look at what we just did. We found out some really important stuff, An. Stuff we can use."

She sniffled, pouting. "Oh. Yeah. Helpful. 'The armies of the Great War are gathering, and the Council of Sha'an Tal has been called. Here, have another pile of really vague, confusing and contradictory prophecy.' Big whoop."

He gathered her close in his arms. "There was a lot more than that. Remember? How mighty our army would be? That we have a real chance to stop this, as long as we figure out the whole Gate/Key thing. Don't worry. With Buffy and Angel leading the way, we can't lose. I... can't believe I just said that."

Anya burrowed deeper into his chest. "If I was a demon again, I could help more. I could protect you. I'm no good to anybody like this."

Xander chuckled and hugged her. "Sure you are. You're good for me."

She looked up at him. "R-really?"

He smiled. "Yeah, really. I need you, Anya. Together, I think we're a pretty handy team, don't you? Me with my extensive knowledge of modern weaponry and battle tactics... you with your... thousands of years of experience in, um... other stuff... We're indispensable!"

She thought about that for a moment, chewing on her lip. Finally, she smiled. "You know what, you're right!" Pulling out of his arms, she turned and began to run up the street. "Come on, what are you waiting for? We have to call Giles!"

Spun by her sudden change in demeanor, Xander stood frozen for a moment, staring after her. Finally, he shook it off and followed.

* * *

"You. What are you doing here?" the Female spat.

Spike glared at her. "Invited, Sweetie. I'm a warrior, you know."

The Male advanced on him. "You are a demon. Your kind are not welcome here."

"I asked him to come," Faith interceded. "He's uh... he's my bodyguard."

The blond snorted at her barely veiled double entendre.

The Oracles glowered at him for a moment, then turned in tandem to focus on the Slayer.

"The Fallen One," the Female observed. "To call a Second is your right. So be it, then. What have you brought as offering?"

Faith held up the statuette, jumping a little when it flew out of her hands and into the Female's.

"Handy trick," Spike muttered, and lit up a smoke.

The Male shot him another glare, then approached Faith. "They have said that you would take up your Mantel once more. We are gladdened to find it is true."

"Yes. Fortuitous for the Light," the Female agreed, not looking up from her new toy.

"Indeed."

Faith tried not to bristle as the Male circled her, inspecting her carefully.

"You have been altered."

She shrugged. "Yeah, so?"

The Female gave her attention at last. "Such insolence." She glanced at her brother. "Fierce warriors with spirit. The Champion chooses wisely."

The Male frowned slightly. "Perhaps."

"Look, this is all great big gobs of fun," Spike complained, "But we did come here for a reason."

The Male glared at him once more, and the vampire's cigarette exploded with a snap and a puff of smoke.

"HEY!" Spike spluttered.

"We are merely tolerating your presence here, demon, in deference to the Slayer. We do not speak to your ilk, nor do we acknowledge your speech," the Oracle recited haughtily.

"Pillock," Spike mumbled, swiping the soot and burnt tobacco crumbs from his mouth.

The Female took a step closer to Faith. "Child. What question have you for us?"

The brunette cleared her throat, and tugged a scrap of paper out of her pocket.

"It is said that a Master vampire will rise in the immediate future. Is this true?"

The Female tilted her head curiously. "There are many who call themselves Master. They rise. They fall. Have you not killed one yourself?"

Faith bit back the urge to tell the blue chick not to answer a question with a question. But... Doyle had warned her that the Oracles would be tricky to pin down. She pressed on, glancing down at the list of questions Giles had written before leaving for Sierra Ridge. "The Hellmouth. Is there a new Master rising in Sunnydale?"

Both Oracles stared off into the distance. The Female's attention returned first. "Yes. The signs indicate a new lead of the Sanguinati nearby."

"How do we stop him?"

The male stepped between them. "You will not want to."

Faith tensed. "That's ridiculous."

Spike rolled his eyes. Evil was so much more straightforward than all this Greek-Gods-Telling-the-Future bunk.

"Will Angelus be the new Master?" the Slayer asked. It wasn't one of the questions on her list, but it was definitely one they needed an answer to. The others would have to wait.

The Oracles looked at one another, then back at Faith once more. "Yes and no," they chorused.

"Just what the Hell is that supposed to mean?" the vampire barked. He'd had about enough of this crap.

They ignored him.

Faith quickly rephrased. "Will Angel... lose his soul?"

"Not as such," the Female replied.

"Oh, Bloody Hell!" Spike complained, "Can't you just answer with a simple yes or no?"

"Spike..." Faith warned. "Okay. So... Angel will 'kind of' lose his soul, and Angelus will 'kind of' become the Master. Is that what you're telling us?"

"He has already ascended," the Male explained, "But the victor has yet to take the crown."

Faith sighed.

The Female's expression softened. "Patience, child. All things will become clear in time. These questions are not those that can be answered in words suited for human ears. We cannot tell you the future of this matter, for that future is unclear. But fear not, and take this knowledge with you: The workings of the cosmos are not as they appear on their surface. Look deep. In yourself, in others... friend or foe. Do not accept what is shown at face value. Therein lies the power you will need for victory."

"We have no more to tell you," the Male intoned, "Return not with this creature, or we will not grant audience, next time."

A blinding light ripped through the chamber, and when it cleared, Faith found herself sitting against a wall in the cavern beneath the Post Office. Spike spluttered and cursed beside her, grumbling about the retarded Cosmic Smurfs. He struggled up to his feet, brushed the dirt off his coat, and reached out a hand to help her up.

Cordelia and Doyle waited, gawking at them expectantly.

"So? What did they say?" the half-demon asked.

"Bugger-all, that's what," Spike bitched. "Damned waste of time."

Faith continued staring at the closed archway. "They said it's even weirder than we think."

Cordy and Doyle gave a collective groan.

* * *

Emma refilled their cups, then settled back in her chair with a sigh.

If such a thing was possible, the Gypsy looked even older than the last time Angel saw her. Every line on her face seemed deeper, and her eyes were overflowing with unfathomable wisdom. He knew that she was at least a century old, but looking into those eyes, he wondered if her soul was far older than that.

"You are weary, child. Why do you not take your rest in the embrace of your sleeping mate?" the crone queried, breaking their long silence.

Angel shrugged. "I feel rested."

She smiled. "The dream did its work, then. I'm glad."

He considered her wizened features closely. "I thought it was you."

Emma's eyes twinkled. "Well, it was and it wasn't. I knew you were in need of some respite from your recent difficulties. But the material came from you and your Little Warrior... scenes from two souls entwined in the Dreaming."

Setting his cup down on the table between them, he leaned toward her, his elbows on his knees. "The other dream..."

Her smile dimmed. "Yes. The night terror."

"Was that prophetic, or more manifestation of the problems Buffy and I are having?"

The Gypsy set her cup beside his, and tucked her legs tightly up beneath her voluminous skirts. "This is a difficult question to answer, Angelus. Without having been there myself." She held his gaze squarely. "What felt you, in the grip of this nightmare?"

Angel tensed. "The demon."

Her eyebrows arched. "The demon? How do you mean? A demon is not an emotion."

He closed his eyes, hating to recall even a moment of that scene, let alone his traitorous feelings toward it. "I felt... hatred. Rage. Thirst for blood. Madness. Desire to... annihilate."

"Ah. And... destroying your mate," she elaborated without emotion.

"Yes." He opened his eyes slowly and found Emma tapping her grizzled chin thoughtfully. "What is it?"

She examined his features with intimate concentration. "My dear... I have been seeing signs. Conflicting visions of what is to come. Some give me cause to fear, others to rejoice. The spirit realms are in flux... And I admit, I find the contradictions confounding and upsetting. The cards are unclear. The Gods speak in gibberish, when they speak at all. I do not know for certain what lies ahead. Or what your dreams might mean."

Angel slouched visibly. "Then you can't help us."

The hopelessness that leaked into his rich voice made her want to weep for his pain. Then tweak his ear for his insistence on pessimism and self-defeat. "You see things... how is it Daniel says -- as though your glass were half empty? Your hope is dimmed by this self-hatred that continues to cripple you. Old One... you must let this pain go, and look into your Self. Your true Self."

The vampire stared at the floor without responding.

"Give me your hand, boy."

His eyes shot up in surprise at the demand, but he complied.

Old Emma gazed intently at his palm, shifting his large hand about in her smaller ones. Finally, she released it, and peered into his eyes once more.

"Your Destiny has not changed. Your path is as difficult today as it was yesterday, and as it will be tomorrow. The Gods smile upon you, but I fear... The greatest enemy you face is still yourself. What comes from outside cannot defeat you as swiftly or absolutely as that which comes from within."

He frowned. "I know that."

"Do you?" She sat closer. "Aingeal... yours is a difficult burden. This bonding you have taken with the Slayer... would you have taken it had you a choice?"

"No, I wouldn't," he replied without a moment's hesitation.

"Why? Do you not love the Little Warrior?"

Angel flinched. "Of course I do. More than anything in the universe. But..." He faltered, glancing away.

"But?"

"She doesn't deserve to be tied to me. To what I am. It's not right."

Old Emma stared at him pointedly. "Not right for... whom? Is that for you to decide?"

Why did everyone always ask him that? "You know what I am. The things I've done. She doesn't. Buffy chose me without all the facts to make that decision wisely."

The old woman frowned. "So... you would break the bond if such a thing were possible? Release Buffy and set the demon free once more? Force her to hunt you down? To shatter her own soul by making her destroy the only thing that she loves unequivocally?"

Not such an easy question to answer. Would forcing Buffy to kill him -- again -- be worse than forcing her to live inextricably fettered to him?

Wasn't that exactly what he had been considering yesterday?

"I don't know."

"Well. There is the first truth that you must find. Buffy has made her choice -- informed or no. And she laid all that she is on the line for that decision, because she felt it was right. What are you willing to do?"

He said nothing.

Emma waited patiently. The answer would not come soon. His was always to be an arduous journey. She eased out of her chair and sat beside him, taking his cool hands once more in her warm ones.

"Liam... first child of Magnus... Angelus... hear me well."

The imperative rang in her ancient voice. Angel forced himself to look into her face.

"You are the consort of the Light. You too are Chosen. Above and beyond all else, you must care for your mate. You must find it within you to accept what she offers, without question. You must embrace her gift. The way will not be simple for either of you. But, child... you must let her love you. You must cherish and believe in what flows between you. For it is that which will save the world."

Angel gaped at her. The truth of her words pounded against his fear, and yet... still, the shadow at his core held acceptance of it back.

"I don't... know if I can."

The old Gypsy sighed. "Then all will be lost."

Buffy chose that moment to bound into the room, appearing well rested and smiling brightly. "Good morning!" She chirped, swooping down to kiss Angel briefly on the forehead. "Any more tea and crumpets for me?"

Her happiness washed through the link like a summer rain, and it took all of Angel's will not to burst into tears.

//Crushing her again. Just like always.//

Buffy caught his torment, and her smile instantly vanished. "Angel? What's wrong?" She rushed to sit beside him. The Grandmother moved aside to make room. Angel glanced at her for a moment, then pulled her into his arms without a sound.

Emma watched the way their energy welled and warmed the room's air far more than her paltry fire did.

Yes... these two could very well change the world. If only they could cease their pointless self-deprecations and truly trust... themselves and each other.

She cleared her throat softly, until both of her beloved warriors looked up from their embrace. Such a beautiful pair. Perfect duality: Yin and Yang. Dark and Light. Power of heart and might combined.

"We should begin. There is much to accomplish, and very little time. Come. Let us sit on the floor, and I will begin to explain the nature of your bonding."


	15. Trust In Me

"This is the story as my people tell it," the shapeshifters' archivist told Giles and Wesley, motioning toward the book they held between them. "It's only in recent years that we've begun to write it down. As you know, our tradition is typically oral."

"Mm," Giles commented, not raising his eyes from the page he was reading.

Wesley glanced around at the group of were-folk assisting them. The keepers of Pack Lore were a diverse lot, of both genders, varied ethnic groups, and ages ranging from late twenties, to the eldest, who may have been close to Emma's age. What a rich tapestry this community was. "You say that the Council of the Sha'an Tal has been summoned."

"Yes. Or at least, we are seeing its first stirrings," the eldest of the males, a raven-haired man dressed in outdoor gear, concurred, "This is why the Grandmother called the Pack. Our world has completed one turn on the millennial axis. The moon is said to weep blood, and the Paradox Gate is, for the most part, assembled. So say the Old Ones."

"This Gate..." Giles interrupted, "The descriptions of it are rather... vague."

The Archivist nodded. "Unfortunately, no one is certain what exactly comprises the Gate. Only that there are six parts -- the four points of the Portal, and the two of the Key. When the six powers come into concordance at the Final Hour, they are said to release the Host. What our people call the Grr'aktah--the Great Army. The Host will determine the victor of the Dark War."

"This Gate is a power of Good, then?" Wesley ventured hopefully.

The eldest female leaned forward. "The Gate is neither Good nor Evil, as is true of its points. The use to which these powers shall be put is determined by the intention of the hands that activate it."

 

"Then we must discover what these parts are, and learn how to put them to use before the Dark Forces do," Giles concluded.

"Yes," the outdoorsman agreed, "That would be wise."

* * *

"Now... breathe slowly... deeply. Do not touch physically, but only feel your combined essence," Emma murmured, her voice low and hypnotic. "Angel, can you feel her breath? Her heartbeat?"

"Yes..."

"Good. Keep that sensory anchor. Listen always for these rhythms. This is your position in the link, Angelus -- the grounding of Earth. Keep watch over the Slayer's life force, and allow her to direct the energy--the Fire-- between you. Buffy?"

"Uh huh?"

"Open your inner eye, as I showed you. Turn all your senses inward, and follow the path of light... that is your connection into Angel. Do you feel it?"

Buffy nodded, her eyes closed.

"Good. What do you know?"

The younger woman's eyes popped open. "What?"

Emma felt the magickal trance they had worked into snap. Two hours, and still this pair before her were unable to remain focused enough to tap their power in such a way that they might control it. They were still tense... distracted. Like all the other cosmic powers that had been gathering, their energies were too muddled to read well or put to any productive use. "Child... you must concentrate. Find the deepest center of yourself, where your spirit lives, and reach out to his."

Angel too opened his eyes, his handsome features set in a deep frown. "That's sort of where we run into problems."

"Yes..." She watched their auras for a moment. Buffy and Angel sat far apart, their individual energies shrinking back from one another. Emma had been hoping that their dream the previous night would have replenished their sense of Oneness, but now she knew that it would not be so simple to repair what was broken between them. Their fear and anger hung palpably in the air, a barrier to the true bonding they desperately needed to achieve, were they to survive. A few years of intensive psychotherapy would no doubt be their best remedy. Unfortunately, they didn't have a few years. And she was an old Gypsy, not a psychiatrist. "So I see. We should take a rest, children. Have some lunch, perhaps," she suggested, and began to struggle to her feet. Before she moved more than a few inches, Angel was beside her, offering his arm.

She smiled up at him. "Thank you, dear. Come. Let us eat... and talk."

No sooner had she uttered the statement, then a young woman entered with a large tray, covered with sandwiches and fresh fruit, two large bottles of water, and a dark, unlabeled container.

Angel scented the blood immediately. Only then did he realize that it had been nearly 48 hours since he fed. Hunger probably wasn't helping their current situation.

The group ate and drank in tense, thoughtful silence. Buffy devoured four sandwiches with hardly a breath in between. And still the distance between the lovers yawned.

"The link is not your problem," Emma announced suddenly.

They looked up from their respective meals. Emma took a long drink of her water, and set the bottle back down on the tray, fixing them with a pointed stare.

"It's not..." Angel echoed.

The were-cat shook her head.

Buffy swallowed the bite she'd been chewing. "I know I'm going to regret this, but... what, exactly, is our problem, then?"

Emma looked from green eyes to brown. "In simplest terms? Fear. Mistrust. Old wounds unhealed. Nightmares. Frustration. To coin a popular phrase: issues. Stress. These specters stand between you... and weaken you from within."

Angel's glance ticked away, his manner instantly nervous.

"Angelus... the responsibility for this does not fall on you alone," she offered, "Both of you contribute to this rift in your own way."

Both warriors' eyes widened, and they looked about to argue. Their spirits seemed to close themselves off further at her revelation. There was no help for it. No time to be anything but blunt.

"It is my responsibility, as well. I was... not as cautious in my preparations for this magick as I might have been under... less urgent circumstances. Time was a more pressing consideration than attention to probabilities. And, indeed... I should have known the both of you far better before I assisted in placing this geis on your immortal souls."

Angel's gaze darkened, his anger cracking like a whip in the already hyper-magickal air. The magnification of it stung Buffy like a slap, and she stared at him.

"What the Hell is that supposed to mean?" he hissed.

The Gypsy sighed and pulled herself out of her chair, ignoring the two powerful, angry sets of eyes that bored into her back as she crossed the room and leaned heavily on the mantel, peering into the fire.

"A bond such as the one we utilized to trap the demon... was not originally meant for two beings such as you." She turned her apologetic face to them. "You, the Greatest Slayer. And you, the most vicious demon in history -- with the most repentant, honorable soul in the heavens. The magick of your paradoxical love was already strong. The depth of your human pain, abysmal. Vows such as those Buffy took should never have been performed on two beings with so much inner conflict."

Emma noted the Slayer's features forming into an outraged scowl that nearly matched her mate's. "Yes, Buffy, you too are conflicted. You do not yet understand your own Self. Your Calling. And you, Acleasi Fericit... I do not think we need to discuss again what tears at your spirit. A wedding of souls should be untainted by ghosts of the past. And both parties should enter into such a union willingly, understanding all of its implications. Neither of you had the option of exercising that right. Buffy, because she does not fully understand either her Self, or the being to whom she is wed, and Angel..." she sighed sadly, "Angel was not given the luxury of choice at all. The bond, though in no way faulty in itself, opens each of you to parts of yourselves, and of the other, for which you have not been prepared to face. Such is the nature of your current difficulties."

Vampire and Slayer sat in stunned, angry silence for several breathless minutes.

"Fine," Angel snapped, "So the foundations of the bonding are rotten. What do we do now?"

Emma gave them a soft, affectionate smile. "Oh, no. The foundation is anything but 'rotten', as you say." She turned and took a slow step toward them. "You... the two of you... share a love like no other in the cosmos. A love that conquers insurmountable obstacles... transcending centuries... species... intrinsic natures. It has survived Hell both literal and metaphorical. Oh, my sweet children. No. Your foundation is more abiding, more tenacious, than any I could have hoped for. That is why I believe you will ultimately overcome."

Buffy's frown deepened. "Then...I don't get it. I mean... is the link broken, or not? If we're so strong, why are we having so many problems?"

The gypsy eased into her chair once more. "What is broken are your hearts. You still... even after all you have survived together... as much as you adore one another and would without question lay down your lives for each other... Still... you do not trust. You do not forgive. Yourselves, or the other."

Their auras seemed to relax. Ah... so these were not unknown issues to them. Good. The only trick now was to get it all out in the open.

"Buffy, could you please tell us what you remember about the cleansing ritual the night of your bonding?"

The Slayer took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah... we, um... we all talked about how we felt about each other. Good and bad stuff."

"Very good. Angel, of course, was not a part of that proceeding."

Buffy's eyes widened as she glanced at her lover, and back. "You... want us to..."

"Yes. I want the two of you to fully share your truths with one another," Emma finished for her, "As much as such sharing is possible."

Tension ripped back through their auras, and the gypsy had to restrain herself from growling in frustration. How stubborn these children were!

"I realize this notion makes you both uncomfortable..."

Angel snorted. Emma shot him a chastising glare. "Do you wish to save your bond, or no? We can spend this time working to sever it, and then hunting the demon if you'd rather!"

Both of her students started visibly, their faces masks of horrified incredulity.

"I didn't think so. Now, can we cease with these games? Will you do as I ask? Answer my questions as fully and honestly as you are able? For only if you do, and devote yourselves fully to that honesty, will you forbear, and the link become the strength between you that it was meant to be." She looked hard at them, her brown eyes darkening to almost feral black, her voice ringing with magick and anger. "Will you? You were not consulted before, but I challenge you now -- do you give yourself to one another? Give your hearts, bodies, minds and souls -- all that you are, all that you will be, to one another? Say ye nay now, and I shall release you!"

The lovers moved as one to object -- first, to grab the other's hand, and then to shout "NO!" in unison.

//Yes. Their synthesis is automatic. Good sign.//

Angel regained his calm first, and spoke for both of them. "We'll do whatever we need to." Buffy nodded her enthusiastic agreement.

Emma's smile quickly returned, and she allowed the magick that she had conjured to dissipate. "I didn't think you would be so quick to discard one another." She turned to the handsome vampire, and slipped quietly into his thoughts, noting what stained the outermost edges of his mind. Then, she turned to look at his mate.

"What is Angel's greatest fear, Buffy?"

The Slayer cringed, her eyes immediately beginning to fill. "That... that he'll... lose his soul."

"It's more complicated than that, isn't it Angelus?"

He shrugged, unable to meet either woman's eyes.

Emma looked to the Slayer once more. "Use the link to touch what your beloved feels. And, Angel... do not attempt to block her, no matter how much you fear what she will find. I am here to watch and keep you safe."

Buffy took a deep breath and turned her gaze on Angel. His eyes remained locked on their entwined hands.

"Angel... look at me..." she whispered.

Sluggishly, timorously, he did. Buffy stared straight into his face, concentrating all of her energy on falling through the rich brown of his eyes, until she felt the whispering edges of his mind. His thoughts were so clear, she hardly had to go farther. A slight push, and the last unconscious barrier he held against her gave way.

In a pounding flash, images rushed into her, visions of blood and corpses, torture, rape, cruelty, horror. Evil beyond her worst nightmares. The gleeful abandon toward the misery of victims driven mad, torn limb from limb, animalistic pride at the annihilation of entire towns... families... including his own.

Images of her. Hatred, resentment, disdain toward everything she stood for. Anger for the way that she'd made the Soul feel. Memories of the demon... times when he had almost bested her in battle. Times when he'd glutted on her blood, and his only desire had been to hear her heart stop. Times when he dreamed of violating her sexually, humiliating her utterly, eviscerating her slowly... turning her.

But underneath all of these, and Angel's fear and shame at them, she felt the faint stirrings of something else. Weak, soft, barely an echo, compared to the rest. Fear for himself. Fear for his soul. Love of what little tie to humanity he possessed. Terror of losing those small blessings he felt so undeserving of: Cordelia, Wesley and Doyle's tenacious devotion... the respect of Buffy's friends... and her love. His deepest fear was losing the ground he'd struggled for a century to attain.

"Y-your... humanity," Buffy choked out, "Your greatest fear is... not being human anymore at all."

Angel's expression was equal parts shock and wonder. "What?"

Buffy looked at the Grandmother.

"Yes..." the old woman agreed, "That's very good, Buffy. You have found the one shadow has two edges. Angel... how do you feel about what your Little Warrior just told you?"

"I... I didn't... know."

"No, I imagine that you would not. You see, child... you do not believe that you deserve even your own fears for your Self. Part of your curse is thinking yourself unworthy of those smallest human frailties and comforts. It is not only because of the horror and chaos the demon threatens that makes you fear its release... but because you cherish your soul for its own sake. And you value those who cherish it with you. You think yourself worthless, and yet... you have a sense of worth."

Angel blinked, reacting to her words as though she had cleaved his body in two with a sword. She remained quiet for a time, allowing the energy in the air to settle down. Let the suffering vampire think upon her words, and take some badly needed reprieve from this rush of personal pain.

But she could not let them wait for long. The lovers were opening to one another again, at last... this was not an opportunity to be wasted.

"Angel..."

He panted softly as he raised his wounded eyes to her.

"What is Buffy's greatest fear?"

His gaze eased to his beloved, and he winced slightly to see her discomfort. "I don't want..."

"ANGELUS!" Emma barked, "TOUCH HER! Do not assume that you know her deepest thoughts! FEEL them!"

Angel took a deep breath. As he flowed into the link, he pushed past his own dread that all he would find in the mirror of her darkness was himself, and tried to allow what was truly there to touch him.

He was astonished to find that she was full of terrors. Not only of him... in fact, that seemed the smallest of all. Buffy was afraid of losing her family and friends. Afraid of being alone. Of losing him. Of never being normal. Of dying.

But the most unforeseen... the most shocking to him... what he found at the very bottom of the littered closet of shadow in her soul, were two things: sorrowful dread for him -- that he would never find the peace that she so desperately wanted him to have, and thought he deserved. And fear of herself. What being the Slayer truly meant.

The realization snapped him back to the physical present, and his heart wrenched to find Buffy crying. He reached up to brush away her tears, unable to say or do anything but let his emotions wash into her.

"What did you find, Angel?" their benefactress queried.

He kept looking at Buffy, not wanting to share such personal secrets -- even with Emma.

Buffy gave a weak smile, even through her tears, and nodded. "It's okay. You can tell her."

Angel took a deep breath, but didn't address the Gypsy. Instead, his eyes remained locked solely on his love.

"Your deepest fear is that you're not human at all."

For a moment, the Slayer seemed as though she might protest. But then she gazed into Angel's eyes, the only place in the universe, even now, where she felt safe, and murmured, "I don't... know what I am."

He took both of her hands and squeezed tightly.

'You're Buffy. That's all that matters. And I love you.'

'You are human. Flawed. Beautiful. I love you, too.'

Emma felt their exchange, and couldn't help but smile. Now there was the common ground they had heretofore been unable to find. That uncertainty of identity, the notion that they were not quite one thing or the other. This was what Emma felt drew them together in the first place -- the ultimate sense of Otherness that no other creature could share with them. They had never realized how deeply the other might feel the same.

Yes... things could only get better, from here.

* * *

Faith purred under the brush of Spike's cool hands over her skin. She wondered, as he dipped his face between her legs for what seemed like the hundredth time that night, why she hadn't gotten a vampire lover a long time ago. His stamina was breathtaking, his strength bone shattering, and his utter devotion to sensation like something from her most wicked fantasies. And 130 years of sexual experience was nothing to scoff at, either.

She'd wrecked more than a few guys in her time -- Xander and Riley included. But the blond vamp could take it all, from hours of tender kisses, to hard riding worthy of a rodeo trophy, and still be ready to hop out of bed after and go dancing, or hunt down a violent battle in a cemetery full of nasties.

As his lips sealed over her already raw clit and suckled so hard and steadily that she was sure he was about to rip all of her nerves out through her crotch, she thought:

//This demon is the perfect match for me. //

Which turned out to be the last coherent thought of any kind that she had, as his oh-so-talented tongue flicked her right over the edge of exploding, screaming oblivion.

Spike was thinking as he ate. He was utterly addicted to touching this woman. Overwhelmed by her inhuman strength, drowning in her taste, deafened by the way she screamed his name every time she came.

He was a little surprised at this sudden depth of feeling for the angry little spitfire of a mortal enemy that writhed beneath him. To call it love, of course, would be silly. He was a demon... heartless.

But damn. As he climbed her body and slammed his perpetual hard-on for her home, the crushing strength of her legs, her inner muscles clamping down on him, her strong hips meeting him thrust for violent thrust, raking her nails into deep, bloody gouges down his back...

He'd never felt anything like it before.

Okay... so he was undoubtedly in lust. Obsessed. Infatuated. Caught up in a net of desire that violated all laws of demon and man. But everything about her was so endlessly fascinating. Faith could fight. She could fuck. God could she fuck...

Spike drilled her mercilessly... a brutal depth that would kill most women. But she only screeched a joyous affirmation, and begged for more as she rocketed toward ecstasy once again.

More. This Slayer always begged him for more -- a sentiment he could absolutely put his all behind.

She was tight, hot and slick around him, milking him so unmercifully, he thought his brain, his balls, --and Hell, truth be told, his dead heart-- might explode with the intensity of it.

When he came, he bellowed her name so loudly, it shook the walls of their room.

He collapsed on top of her, and lapped at the tender throat she would never let him drink from. That one piece of her he wanted that he knew she wouldn't give. A truly disconcerting sensation of possessive tenderness washed over him in the sleepy wake of his orgasm. Uninvited, but not entirely unpleasant... He held her closer.

It had been a long time since he had a mate. Maybe it was time to think about settling down again...

//With a Slayer of all the bints!// He laughed.

Faith pulled away and grinned down at him. "What are you laughing at, vampire?"

He returned the lurid grin. "Nothin'. Just amused, is all."

She laughed, a deep, throaty sound of contentment. "Yeah. Me too."

No. Demons couldn't love. But Spike thought this might be a pretty damned good approximation.

He rolled away from her and lit up a smoke, while Faith reclined, stretching her long, hard body languidly.

Shit. He was ready to go again -- like a damned horny teenager around her all the time. Every move she made was like she'd grabbed him by the grunties and gave just the right squeeze.

On top of all that, she made him laugh. She kicked his ass on a regular basis. Plus -- she was her own sort of nutcase. He liked that in a woman.

God, what he wouldn't do to taste her...

"So, Slayer, uh..." Oh, Boy. Where the bloody Hell was he going to go with this? "We have a good time, right?"

Faith cocked a wry eyebrow at him. "Sure... I guess."

She wasn't one to overspeak her feelings. Especially not for a vampire. Even if he was the most interesting, sexy creature of any kind she'd ever met.

"And it looks like we've got this whole Destiny thing going on..." .//Yeah. That's it. Ply her with thoughts of Armageddon.//

She rolled over and gaped at him like he'd just sprouted a third arm -- and whacked her over the head with it. "You sound like friggin' Buffy."

He flinched. "Bite your tongue."

"What are you getting at, William? You're not gonna get down on one knee and ask me to marry you or something, are you?" she teased.

Spike froze for a moment, then sniggered, emitting a big puff of smoke. "Yeah. That's exactly what I was doing. Let's hop on down to the cathedral and let a priest toast me with some holy water."

The Slayer rolled her weight over and straddled him so that his erection poked up against her belly. He nearly dropped his cigarette when she gave her hips a slow, erotic twist, smearing his lower body with her juices.

"Speak your mind, boy. Or I'll have to punish you," she purred.

A riot of shivers ran up his spine at the danger underlying her words.

"Really... do you promise?" he rumbled happily.

"Bet Angel's got a set of manacles around here, somewhere..."

Spike's cock twitched. "Hell, knowin' that freak, he's probably got a whole set of sterling silver and Llama-hide torture accessories, too."

Faith sprang from the bed. "So, let's get to it. There's a lot of hotel to search."

He instantly forgot all about asking her permission to drink her as she took his hand and led him, naked, into the hall, creeping down to the stairs like kids sneaking out of bed to steal cookies in the middle of the night.

* * *

Willow paced nervously back and forth across Oz's cabin, wringing her hands. Her sister Witch and the werewolf sat side by side on the edge of his bed, watching her without comment as she rambled.

"So... I've been thinking all of this over... about both of you, and us. I mean, the respective sets of us'es. And... I thought, you know, I would weigh the pros and cons and get all the facts and then choose who I wanted to end up with. I even made a list."

Oz arched an eyebrow at her. Tara tilted her head slightly, but neither spoke.

"Because... you know... I do have to choose, right? I mean, I can't be with both of you. One or the other -- that's what monogamy's all about, right?"

Her lovers wondered who it was she was trying to convince.

The redhead finally stopped her frantic treading, and gestured to Oz. "I mean... I've loved you... since forever, pretty much. We've been through so much together. And you were my first, and even now when I'm near you..." She faltered, and swung toward Tara. "But... I love you, too. And we've lived through a lot. And I don't want to lose you, either. We make really... I mean... great magick, like, powerful magick, together. I don't know how to choose, or even if I want to! And that's not fair to either of you, or to me!"

"Willow..." Tara tried to interrupt her confused babbling.

"No, no! Let me finish! So... I tried to pretend I didn't want either of you. And that didn't work. The truth is -- and believe me, I know how selfish this sounds -- I don't want to choose! I love both of you so much! You're both a part of me, and I need you. All the lists and logic in the world can't change that!" The fiery energy of her speech gone, she collapsed to the second bed across from them.

"What are you saying?" the blonde Witch asked.

Willow stared at the floor between her feet. "I can't put one of you before the other. Each of you fills something different in me."

"So, what, you want us to decide for you?" Oz suggested.

Willow shrugged. "No. That's not fair, either."

"Then, what? I don't think... Are you saying you want... both of us?" Tara wondered aloud, casting a nervous glance at the man beside her.

His eyebrows shot up. Emma had suggested that he needed a mate... or two. Was this what she was getting at?

"Intriguing," he commented softly.

Willow's gaze finally shot up, wide-eyed, from the floor. "Oh! No! That's... No, that's not what I meant! I don't... think..."

Tara gulped. She'd been dreaming about this very scene for weeks, now. About the three of them together. She had always been pretty plain when it came to sex. Her affair with Willow was as wild as she'd ever been. But the dreams... The visions she saw forced her to wonder what was happening... or what was supposed to be happening. It wasn't just about sex -- although there was plenty of that, in the dreams. The trio they formed was a symbol of something far deeper. Something Holy. Powerful. Something that would help save the world from darkness.

Seemed a little melodramatic for her fairly simple life. Tara had spent a lot of hours wondering about it, but she'd mostly dismissed it as some manifestation of her jealousy of Oz. Hard to take seriously as a prophetic vision. Polyamoury? That was something she mostly read about in Green Egg, not something she'd ever considered for her own life. How could she possibly be tied to two lovers at once, and in a single relationship, no less?

But now as she sat there, listening to Willow more or less articulating the same idea, and as she felt the automatic bond their three energies seemed to create...

"Um... I think... I think th-there's more to this than just a question of... love," she managed to murmur.

Oz and Willow both gawked at her. Tara took a deep breath and plunged on. "I th-think... us.. .the three of us coming together like this is..."

"Predestined?" Oz contributed.

The blonde nodded her confirmation.

Willow's eyes went wide. "What? You... you mean... we're... all supposed to be... lovers?"

Tara shrugged, her blush making her face feel as though it might burst into flames any moment.

"I d-don't know for sure, but... I've been, um... having these dreams. About us. And what we can do together. With magick."

Oz sat up, his posture ramrod straight. "Old Emma said something about... me taking a mate..." he let his gaze brush from Willow's to Tara's. "Or two."

Willow gasped. "But... I don't... how? Why?"

The werewolf shrugged. "Guess we have to figure that out for ourselves, huh? I don't know about you guys, but I can smell the power the three of us make. Maybe it's time we look beyond our usual definitions of relationships and start thinking about the big picture."

His lover gaped at what was possibly the longest speech she'd ever heard from him. He was right, of course. Willow had been feeling so confused about this because what she felt for both of them didn't fit within her cognitive framework about love. She'd always considered her heart a linear thing -- two people sharing one emotion.

Now she was beginning to understand that maybe it wasn't that simplistic. As soon as that thought formed, a passage of the Etruscan prophecy flashed into her mind. "All things are of three. The triumvirate rising shall call the many names of the Host as they manifest in the Portal of the Center."

Triumvirate. Threesome. All "Charmed" and Jack Tripper jokes aside...

"Oh," she mumbled, "Wow."


	16. To See... To Know... To Understand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRANSLATIONS: "Mo gra... ni caoin le do thoil. Ni bron a behith ort." = "My love... please don't cry. Don't be sad." "Mo Aingeal..." = "My Angel..." The rest are in-text, as Buffy and Angel speak to one another through the link now. The song lyrics at the end are from "I Know" by Jude.

Buffy was totally exhausted. Tired, on top of wiped, on top of beat. Seven straight hours of intensive therapy apparently was more than even a Slayer could take.

Despite the tears and the shouting -- or, really, because of them-- she felt more intimately connected with Angel than she ever had before. After a while, as they shared the deepest secrets they found within one another, the link automatically remained wide open between them. For the first time since their shared nightmare, the free flow of their connection pulsing back and forth felt right. Safe. Like they truly were one. It had become, once again, the line between their hearts that had called her to him when he was in danger.

It wasn't easy, and they still hadn't let down all their walls. Buffy knew that that would only happen when they finally made love again.

Were they ready for that?

'We will be,' he whispered in her mind.

She smiled at him. Angel's eyes were as red and puffy as she imagined hers must be, after all the crying they'd done. All of this had been so hard on him... so hard for him. For both of them. Buffy thought she knew her lover's pain before. She'd spent years watching him suffer, imagining how he must be full of nightmares. But as he spoke about Hell... the things they did to him... the things they made him do... sometimes, to her...

Angel told her once that she wouldn't have wanted to know what happened to him in Hell. Now, listening to him choke out the words... painting gory pictures from his memories...

She realized he was right. Her heart broke for him over and over again. It also bled for the worst truth of all: that she had done it to him. He suffered 500 years of torture at her hand. Hers. The one person who vowed to love him.

But even that pain, he forgave her. Never turning away from her eyes, he told her how proud he was that she had the strength to do what was right, even when it meant sacrificing something she valued. Someone she loved. There was no choice, and he respected her bravery. Most of all, he understood.

She forgave him for leaving her. She told him there was nothing else he could have done, then. They needed those months apart to discover exactly how much they truly needed one another. She knew she would never have learned to appreciate him the way she did at this moment, had he never cared enough to turn his back and walk away.

Each topic, every wound they opened for one another, was slowly healed through the power of their bond. Through spoken words, and emotions shared without them. The unbroken circle of their entwined hands... the loving, compassionate tears in one another's eyes. Buffy found herself stunned by the sheer power of what they felt for one another.

"Buffy... you say that you love Angel," Emma said. Her presence now was almost invisible, only her warm, balancing energy hovering around the borders of the link, guiding and watching.

The Slayer didn't bother with speech. 'I do. With everything I am.'

Angel smiled, grateful that he could feel her words, rather than hear them, like a soft echo in his soul. A caress of her heart.

"And you have learned how deep that love lies... through trial and test, no?"

'Yes.'

"I have asked you this question before, but I want Angelus to feel your response. Do you love him completely? Human faults, demon shadows and all?"

Her heart didn't hesitate. 'Yes.'

At that, Angel winced, and his spirit shrank from her. Buffy gently pulled him back.

'Don't...'

'I can't... hear this.'

Emma shivered involuntarily at his withdrawal. "This wound is raw in you, Angelus. Why?"

The vampire spoke aloud, his voice pained. "How can you ask that? She... doesn't know." He turned to look at Buffy once more. "You can't possibly love... that."

'That? That is part of you. And I do love all of you. Even Him.'

The link was instantly awash in a deluge of emotions from him: fear, horror, jealousy, anger, shame.

Emma reached out and gently touched his knee. He flinched at the unexpected physical contact. "Tell us."

He shook his head.

'Angel... it's okay. You can say anything. I'm not going anywhere.'

"It is all right to be angry with your lover, Angelus. Your feelings are understandable. But a true sharing of souls requires this openness, even in the face of your greatest fears and pain, remember? If you block her... or yourself... you will never be able to control the link fully. This is an exchange of emotion... of power, and it requires all of your shadows as well as your light. Are you angry with her?"

The dark haired vampire grimaced. "I can't..."

Emma felt him closing off, and gently pushed her own energy against his. Still, he hesitated. The dread of his anger welled up like a pool of decay in the center of his power. She frowned -- to be afraid of fear? A debilitating burden, for a warrior.

There was no help for it. She would have to draw his emotions toward this matter out of him. The walls between Buffy and Angel were so thin, now. If only to obliterate those -- then they would be ready for the true power of their bond.

"Buffy... would you please describe your experience the night of the bonding?"

It was the Slayer's turn to pale. "Why? What does that have to do with anything?"

The Gypsy held her frightened gaze. "Angel needs to know what you learned. Why it is that you can say that you love this monster."

Buffy stared down at their clenched hands in the single lap created by their legs pressed tightly together, and felt a quiver begin somewhere deep inside of her. As close as she and Angel were, now, there was no way to tell if it was his soul that trembled, or her own.

There were no words for what she'd felt that night. The part of her that had lain with Angel's demon, that had tasted his blood and hers mingled as one, possessed no speech.

But Emma was right -- he needed to know. To understand. And so she opened that shuttered part of her memory -- the place where the savage hunter lived. Her own caliginous core. The animal that she had only then found, that was pure Slayer.

As soon as she opened the doors to it, every moment spilled out of her, and she felt Angel tense further. But he held tightly to her hands, and his attention to and reception of what she offered never wavered.

'So brave. So strong...'

Buffy remembered the long hours of waiting, watching Angelus sleep. How she had considered the differences and similarities between him and her lover. How Angelus was half of Angel's power -- his strength, his stamina, and his fire. The container of every drop of madness and rage that ran in his blood lay on that bed. How was it possible that the same beautiful shell housed both splendor and horror? Tenderness and madness? Compassion and hate?

She remembered how ashamed she was that her body still responded to its mate, even if the essence was gone. How close she had come to giving up and killing him while he slept. How tired she was of always having to fight for his love. And she remembered the shame of feeling that, too.

The magick that the others built welled in her, and she suddenly knew every thought and emotion that their friends had for him. Giles' irrational hatred and barely controlled terror. Xander's jealous resentment. Willow's pity. Doyle and Cordelia's deep love. But each one also had respect and some level of admiration for his strength of character. They were glad for his devotion to Buffy. Most of all, she felt their understanding of how essential he was to her happiness, and ultimately, her survival.

The decision then made under the weight of those emotions, Buffy fought to subvert her fear, her love, her shame, and listen only to the essence of the Slayer, that hummed with magick and dark lust.

She recalled entering the mansion, focusing all of her will on seducing the handsome demon. By the time she had battered down his defenses, and their bodies locked together, toppling to the floor, she had wanted it. She wanted It. Wanted Him. Her animal self loved his as deeply as such animals could love - beast and demon. Her first conquering of It's evil had come from that bonding of darkness to darkness. She could still feel his hardness impaling her, his teeth and claws gouging her, and how she'd screamed his name as the world exploded into orgasmic gore all around her. The pure bliss of his fangs in her throat, the pulling agony of her blood being torn from her veins... the tangy, coppery texture of his pouring down her gullet. The power of the casting. Her silent roar of victory at a beloved enemy vanquished, melding with a vehement prayer of pure love as she watched that demon fall.

How she wept after, curled up in the chair beside her deathly still lover with a stake in her hand, waiting to see if he would rise her champion once more or if he would snarl and hiss at her. How she feared her last act of tenderness would be to turn him to dust in their bed.

And last... sweet last... she remembered the pure relief that rushed through her when he opened his eyes in the shadows of the early dawn, not awake, not comprehending what they had just been through. How he'd seen her shivering there, and reached out his broad, gentle hand, whispering hoarsely, "Love... come to bed." How Buffy had wept all the harder as she fell asleep in his arms, his strong chest pressed to her back, his breath soft in her ear. How the newborn bond of their souls pulsed like a living thing between them...

So many things. The man. The monster. Pain. Anger. Bliss. Fear. Joy.

All part of her love.

Angel broke eye contact when the visions ended, his grip of her hands going slack. His expression was morose, the sort of look he might once have gotten before getting up and walking away for some alone time. A sure sign that he was thinking something that he didn't want to share with her.

But now, of course, he could hide nothing. His feelings about what she had shared washed through her -- his confusion, his anger and jealousy. Angel hated the thing chained deep inside of him, and he hated the possibility that any part of her could love that thing. Some part of him hated her for feeling it.

Those feelings were sharp, like tiny shards of glass slicing her soul. But with that, beneath that, Buffy could feel the first dawning of understanding in him. Though he still found it difficult to believe, he knew... What allowed her to love the demon was her entire being -- the civilized and the primal-- both accepting him. All of him.

Part of her wanted to apologize for so many things about that night. But no matter how strongly good manners might dictate she should, she couldn't, because the ultimate result of it all was that she still had him beside her.

Buffy understood his shame. His fear. She tasted his memories, and knew in her deepest self why so much of him believed that he needed to be destroyed. As the Grandmother had told them -- because of the beast, Angel didn't feel himself worthy of the gifts he received as a man.

So much like herself. More even, than she had ever imagined. Her own terror that she and her sworn enemies were not so different. That the evil of vampires and her Slayer powers sprung from the same dark source. All these years she had been struggling against her Calling boiled down to the basic inability to accept.

At that thought, Angel raised his pained gaze to hers.

'It's not that simple...'

'Angel... it is. We can only be what we are, but we have to be all that we are.'

Emma smiled. "Yes. Do you see where your troubles lie? Both of you need to find your own centers. That place inside you, where dark and light meet. I believe that you can do this together. That you balance one another. But no matter what, no matter what else you fear, you must learn not to fear one another. You accept each other, in your hearts and souls. Now it is only your logical minds that need to accept this fact. And with that achievement, all else in the universe is wide open to you."

Buffy felt all her tension slowly melting away at the Gypsy's words. What did she have to be afraid of, when she had such an amazing mate? A friend who she need never question, who knew her even better than she knew herself, and who would, without a second thought, die to protect her?

"Angel..." she spoke aloud, "I do understand you. I know the memory of your darkness... the feeling of it. I know it's stitched inside your cells. But... you are much more than that. So much more."

He dragged his gaze up to her beautiful face, and listened... felt what she said. The understanding he had slowly been gaining grew under the adoring mist of her mossy green eyes.

Still holding his hands, she pulled him closer. "God... You're not alone. Not ever. Not as long as I live. That part of me that touched that part of you... they're mates, too, you know? Whether we like it or not. We are one."

Angel blinked furiously, and for a moment, he listened to that whisper inside him -- the demon's voice, that he spent so much energy trying to ignore.

//Mine. She belongs to me.//

For the first time, he began to wonder if somehow that demon possessiveness could be a source of power for them, rather than something to be resisted.

"Together, now, we're more powerful than we've ever been," Buffy went on, "That thing that you hate so much... he gave you to me. Gave me... all the incredible things that you are. All the things about you that I love... the dark and the light. Without him, we never would have met. Don't you know?"

//Yes,// Emma thought, overwhelmed by the power of what was passing between them. So much love. So much pain. //Tell him.//

Buffy sighed, her eyes once again filling with tears. "I know I haven't... I don't...tell you enough. Maybe I never told you at all. Do you know why it hurts me so much to see the way you hate yourself? The way you always hold yourself back from me, even when we make love, even in the link? Because so much of you is just as good as He is evil. You... you're the most amazing human being I've ever met! You're so sweet and gentle and giving... always giving, and never asking anything in return. And I admire you so much for your strength. For having survived all that you've been though and still having the will to live, to share. You're forced to face the darkest part of yourself all the time. Forced to fight to exist. And you win. Every day. It's... just mind-boggling. You blow me away."

Emma faded herself further into the shadows of the room. Now that the floodgates were open, there would be no turning back. Angel looked shocked at his lover's sudden outpouring, and she could feel that he had to strain to stay silent, and let the girl talk. It was difficult for him to accept anything that she was saying.

The Slayer wept as she continued. "You're brilliant... your mind is so beautiful. You know so many things. You're so wise. And your soul... God, Angel... your soul is so honorable and poetic. And you treat everyone around you with respect even when they don't deserve it, and you always make me feel like a Goddess, even when I'm sure I'm nothing but dirt. You're so patient with me... you answer all my stupidest questions without blinking an eye. I love you so much! For all that you are. All that you've accomplished, all that you've given me. You came out of the shadows for me, and you killed your Sire for me. I love you for mourning me when you thought I was dead, and for taking all my unending bullshit when I was growing up. And for always being there to support me when I couldn't stand on my own, and for saving my life more times than I can count, and for dancing with me at the prom, and for loving me so much that you walked away so that I could have a better life... and for... for coming back to me..."

Buffy's words choked and garbled as her body shook with sobs. It didn't matter anyway, as Angel reached out and clutched her to his chest, weeping equally hard, clutching at her, babbling in Gaelic.

'Light and Dark together... within you, and between you.' Emma whispered into their minds. 'This is balance. This is the axis on which the universe turns. This, my children... is love. Do you see?'

'Yes...' came one voice in response. A susurration of understanding and synchronicity.

'The rest, then, is yours to understand. You have the love. You have the faith. Together, you are powerful.'

Angel stood abruptly, and swept the Slayer up into his arms. Neither spared the old woman a word or a glance as they left the room, their mouths locked together in a passionate kiss.

Emma sat back in her chair, satisfied. It had been a very, very good day.

No sooner had the front door closed behind her warriors, than her young attendant appeared once more.

"Tea, Grandmother?" she offered.

The gypsy smiled happily at her, gently petting the girl's shiny black hair. "No, Talia. I think that this occasion calls for whiskey."

* * *

Buffy was still crying as Angel carried her back to their cabin, laying her gently down on the bed, and without hesitation, stretching out beside her. He wanted so badly to tell her not to cry... that she never had to cry again. But he wept too hard from his own confused joy to form any words.

Then he remembered... he didn't need them.

'Mo gra... ni caoin le do thoil. Ni bron a behith ort.'

'I'm not sad... I'm crying because... I'm so happy... '

Angel kissed her slowly, tasting her mouth as lightly as he could, the salt of her tears like a sweet alchemy with the familiar sweet of her lips. The link still whispered between them, and her love... the purity of the truth that she had shown him, sang in his soul.

He never knew. He knew that she loved him -- she showed him that every day. But some part of him never believed it could really be true. That Buffy could not only overlook what he was, but love him in spite of it... or maybe, even, because of it.

As he brushed tender kisses to her fine throat, he thought perhaps the time had come to accept the demon... try to better understand that part, rather than always run from it. Embrace that element of himself that he hated, and learn to understand that it was only what it was, and it would forever be a part of him, along with the remorse for the things it had done.

Buffy was right -- he did live with It. Maybe it was time to thrive in spite of It.

"Mo alainn leannan... mo beannacht mor... nach moran tusa a tabhair me. A leitheid de fe irin... go raibh mile maith..." he whispered between kisses.

'My beautiful lover... how much you've given me... my great blessing... such a beautiful gift. Thank you, so much...'

She sighed under his touch. "Nior mhaith, go raibh maith agat, mo gra," she replied, easily finding the words in his mind.

'No, thank you, my love.'

He smiled to hear her melodious voice wrap around the Gaelic, learning even the inflection from him as though she sipped his knowledge through the link.

Sharing. He had never imagined that such a thing was possible -- everything divided and blended equally between them. Two loves, two sets of heavy burdens made one through the power of their binding.

Buffy gave of herself so freely, winding herself around him in body and soul as his hands traveled over paths so familiar, they were mapped out in minute detail, carved into the flesh of his unbeating heart. Slender, graceful shoulders and arms, soft, full breasts, sloping hips, and lithe, muscular legs. Angel kissed his gratitude to the silken skin above her heroine's heart, and rejoiced to know that that harmonious pounding was a response to him... just for him... the purring of her quickening breath a whispered affirmation of touch that he had begun to fear would be denied him forever.

Home.

"Angel..."

He halted his reverent wanderings and gazed into her adoring eyes.

"Yes, my love..."

Buffy swallowed. "I want... May I..."

Angel smiled down at her, enchanted by her suddenly childlike shyness. What could she possibly ever ask of him that he would deny her? How did she even think that he could? But her reluctance, her almost virginal nervousness, trembled through the energy that pulsed between them.

He tenderly brushed her cheek. "Anything, precious one. There are no secrets between us. Anything in my power to give you is yours. Always."

She took a deep breath. "May I... see?"

Angel tilted his head, for a moment uncertain of what she meant. He listened to the link, and finally realized what it was that she was asking his permission for.

Buffy wanted to look into his soul.

Angel's breath caught. "Buffy..."

Her tiny hand came up and traced his cheek. The tenderness in the depths of her eyes made him quaver. How was it possible, that someone like her could feel so deeply for someone like him?

"Don't... Angel. Please. No secrets, remember? I need to know. I want to know."

She watched her beloved's sable eyes fill with tears once more. "I'm not sure I want to know what's really there, Buffy."

She combed calming fingers through his hair. "You don't have anything to be afraid of. You're not alone, my love. Neither of us is. After everything we've been through... no matter what I find, I'm never going to leave you. We can handle this. We can handle anything together."

Angel looked away. "I'm afraid."

Buffy got to her feet and stood gazing down at him for a heartbeat, letting his unease wash through her, and passing her certainty back to him.

He closed his eyes and stopped breathing, allowing her to proceed that first bit inside him. God, how he wanted to spare her this... his ugliness, that black Nothing that rotted his core. How he wanted to be beautiful, pure and flawless, for her. The knight she had once dreamed him to be, before their nightmares had begun.

She crouched down before him, looking up into his eyes.

'You are beautiful. You are my knight.'

'Love, I don't... want it to touch you... not ever again.'

His pain gouged her heart. 'Stop this. Weren't you listening to me all day?'

Angel's soul sobbed -- it had heard her, and still couldn't believe. Not fully. Buffy reached down and took his hands, pulling him gently to his feet.

'"Evil is nothing but good, tortured by its own hunger and thirst." Didn't you tell me that once?'

'You... remember that?'

She smiled softly. 'Well... truthfully, I kind of stole it from your memory.'

His mouth quirked, just a little. 'That's cheating.'

Buffy reached up and lightly traced his lips. 'Does it matter? It's still true. I know that you feel empty. Please... let me fill you. The way you always fill me.'

Hesitantly, he acquiesced, allowing the last conscious barrier between them to fall. If there was any being, ever, that he could trust, it was this woman.

'Let me show you how beautiful you are, mo Aingeal...'

*You've got such a pretty smile...  
It's a shame the things you hide behind it.  
Let 'em go, give it up for awhile.  
Let 'em free and we will both go find it.*

She began worshipping him at a leisurely pace, caressing the planes of his face, letting her emotions flow freely through the link, like an extra blanket of warmth throbbing out of the tips of her fingers. Visions of how dearly she loved each and every part of him like a river of love and desire passing from her skin to his. She traced his strong brow... felt how it expressed so many things that he held inside... how it made her smile when the right side cocked in wry amusement. She brushed the line with her index finger, then let the touch wander around his eyes.

Pools of love... of trust... of heartbreaking sadness. How they sparkled with joy or burned with passion... how even the demon amber shone with his heart. All the millions of things she had seen in those beautiful eyes...

She brushed the back of her hand over his cheekbones, a whisper caress under his jaw, her knuckles turning to graze his lips. She thought of his smile, his kiss, both indelibly etched in her memory. How the vision of his face in her mind's eye thrilled her... how his physical perfection was like a drug in her blood.

*I know there's nowhere you can hide it.  
I know the feeling of alone.  
I know that you do not feel invited,  
But come back  
Come back in from the cold.*

All the things she had put words to earlier began to flow from within her... and underneath, all those things that no words could ever express. She continued the journey of her magick over his form, gazing with unveiled, tender adoration at every moiety that she stroked, and with each touch, her soul told his how it felt to be a part of him.

She slid her hands down and raised his shirt up, revealing the rolling muscles of his shoulders... his thick arms, his trim midsection... Her own body began to hum with the want of him, and she let that fire flow between them, too.

Angel sighed as her passion washed through him. Such aching tenderness, such violent, burning desire.

'Perfect. Beautiful.' her soul whispered, and the feeling of it made him shiver and moan softly.

Her mouth quickly joined the pilgrimage of her gentle hands, tingling over him.

"Buffy..." he breathed aloud, letting his hands fall to her fine shoulders, kneading her softly to the building rhythm of his own desire. Yes... the hunger and the thirst that had always eaten at him, since his days as a mortal man. And only she had ever come close to quenching it.

*Tell me how you really feel  
Tell me what is on the inside of you.  
All the somethings you conceal  
Only keep away the ones who love you.*

She kissed down his breastbone, licking a shivering, burning line to his waist. Without faltering, she undid his slacks, let them fall to the floor, then drew away his silk shorts. Lost in her spell, Angel absently stepped out of them, unafraid to stand bare before her.

Buffy gently took his penis in her hand, stroking it with a bare feather touch. He closed his eyes with a soft moan as it came to life in her hands.

Yes... he was utterly exposed to her, always. Eternally undefended. Every part of him, body and spirit, hers.

Her warm hands cupped him tenderly; brushing his most sensitive skin with a care that wrenched his heart as hard as it fired his blood. And still she traveled on, her touch conveying more of her love and desire than every word she had spoken this day. Her fingertips and her lips explored his familiar body, the insides of his thighs, the backs of his knees, the curve of his rear, up his spine, and across his broad shoulders. Perfect love. Perfect trust. Perfect desire and total acceptance.

Angel couldn't help but literally purr as Buffy caressed him... the physicality in itself was always enough to wash him away, but this... her openness, the way that there no longer seemed to be anything keeping them separate anymore -- not even their skin; feeling her so completely, tasting her memories of all the billions of moments they had shared, and all her shining hopes for those to come, was exquisite.

'I love you, Angel...'

*Step away then, from the edge.  
Your best friend in life  
Is not your mirror.  
Back away, come back away  
Come back away  
Come back away  
Come back away  
I am here, and I will be  
Forever and ever...*

He never realized that she had led him toward the bed and pushed him down until his spinning head came to rest on the soft pillows, and he found himself looking up at her. So beautiful, the soft firelight like a golden halo around her body as she slowly undressed, never taking her eyes from his. When she was nude, she stood still, gazing down at him with adoration and worship shining in her green eyes.

'We are one. There's nothing you can't share with me. Nothing inside you that I'm afraid of. Nothing I don't love completely.'

Buffy eased herself on top of him, unable to hold back her gasp as they came fully skin to skin. She dove into his cool mouth, tenderly plundering his lips, tangling her tongue with his, wrapping her hands in his thick hair.

'Everything I know about love... about courage... about giving... I learned from you. Please trust me.'

Trust her... How could he not? How could he not put every possible ounce of his faith in this woman, who had given him everything -- put her entire being on the line for him again and again? Angel relaxed completely, and allowed his body to focus on her caress, his spirit on the entry of hers.

He cried out as she lowered herself onto him, her wet, pulsing warmth surrounding, clasping him firmly, and as she moved above him, she eased into his mind like a soft breath. She began to move deep, a river that filled the spaces inside him that only a moment before had been empty. He plunged into her, and out again, guiding her with grasping hands on her hips, setting a deep, long rhythm, making love to her light as well as her body.

Buffy lost herself in the velvety cold taste of his lips, concentrating on the way they slowly warmed against hers, until her soul found the place where their connection glowed, hot and throbbing like a vein of light. She pushed forward along it, searching for that part she instinctively recognized as "not me", and slid down into the first clean indigo of the void that had driven her out before. Moving forward, down, falling and flying and swimming to where she could see his blue begin to turn to decaying black, she could feel it... the tearing cold. The demon... her lover... roaring her name in mad fury.

She called to the Warrior in her that had defeated the monster so many times before, and let that ancient part of herself lead her still deeper. The blackness was colder than frigid... darker than nothing. It was a void, a pit, where nihility dwelled, filled with pain, rage and hatred... loathing for humanity... blood, screaming and demons... visions of Hell. The talons of It's evil reached for her, and the Warrior, the fiend's lover, did not turn away.

She wanted to scream. To turn around and fly back to where she could feel nothing but Angel gorging himself on her body. Where she was safe.

But, no. If she retreated now, they would never be able to be this close again. And she had come this far to find where he truly dwelled... What was really at the end of her journey into him, beyond the thick, black mire of the demon -- his depravity and ghosts.

Now she would know. Instead of fleeing the monster's grasp, Buffy pushed her being into it, accepting its deadly embrace as her body once had.

Angel felt nothing but her skin... tasted nothing but the salt tang of her sweat, the sweet silk of her lips, and drank in her moaning and sighed as he sunk deep into her flesh. He willed himself away from what she was doing... what she was seeing, in his center... Concentrated squarely on her life force, resonating through her skin, enveloping him, urging him on.

She could hear it... taste it... breathe it, as his pace inside her grew frenzied, and the friction of their coupling became a delicious, burning agony. As she reached her goal-- the very center of the darkness -- that place that not even Angelus had tread, beyond visions of her and memories of his life, the anger and crushing guilt that consumed him, beyond that final cold of his human death, she felt it. A shield... a wall.. firm against the seeking fingers of her spirit.

*I know there's nowhere you can hide it.  
I know the feeling of alone.  
Trust me and don't keep that on the inside  
Or soon you'll be locked out on your own.*

Buffy arched her body into him as she built to a peak, and pushed her soul against his with the rush of power her bliss generated. His defenses still resisted her... tried to force her back, but she persisted. She had come so far... so far... she wouldn't let him protect her from himself anymore. Her body worked his from above, riding him, using their rhythm to capture all of his energy as she bore against that wall once more, trying to penetrate his spirit as deeply as he penetrated her skin.

A burst of ecstasy propelled her through at last, and Angel shouted her name as the ball of his core exploded into light, and she exploded with it, answering his call with a cry of her own. Pure, white light... nothing but light. It shattered all of the darkness that surrounded it and shuddered out into an all-consuming fireball, washing over her and breaking her down into a billion sparks, a trillion blazing molecules of pure rapture.

They both continued crying out to one another as the orgasm went on and on... a single, burning climax. He whimpered softly as she eased out of his mind, and her body fell to the soft mattress beside him as she tried to relearn how to breathe.

Angel crushed her tightly to him, burying his face in her hair, and lay there, shivering.

Buffy held him, the cold liquid of his release tingling in her skin, and warmth of his pure essence pumping in her blood. As she closed her eyes, she memorized the moment, committing all that she had seen and felt inside him to her heart. Sleep took her, leaving her with the final thought that she had been right to love him all along -- whatever else lived within her Angel, his true core was nothing but goodness and love. And that, ultimately, would be his salvation... and maybe that of the world.

Nothing would ever take her away from him again.

*You're not alone.  
You're not alone.  
And don't say you've never been told  
I'll be with you 'till we grow old  
'Till I'm in the ground and I'm cold.  
I'm not sitting up here on some throne.  
I'll be with you until we're both gone.  
Like a dog you can always come home.  
Look around...*


	17. Back to...Normal?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem that Angel is murmuring in various languages is "To the State of Love, or The Senses' Festival" by John Cleveland.

"I can't get over this place!" Willow commented for the tenth time. "I mean, Goddess! Why would Angel want to buy an entire hotel?"

Xander shrugged and shoved another biscuit into his mouth. "Renting out the rooms to his demon buddies covers the mortgage?"

"I think it's mostly symbolic," Doyle cut in, "He used ta live here back in the 50's. Had a pretty hairy time with a paranoia demon that was runnin' the place. He had us help him drive it out a while back, so... I think maybe it's a reminder of what he was then versus what he is now."

When the half-demon finished his analysis, he looked up to find the others all staring at him.

"Well, that's what I think, at least."

Wesley handed fresh cups of coffee to Tara and Cordelia, then took his own seat at the enormous stainless steel kitchen island.

"Actually, I don't think you're too far off the mark, Mr. Doyle. Or you, for that matter, Xander. Purchasing the Hyperion may have been motivated by both metaphorical and practical reasoning on Angel's part. There is a great deal of space, and the building does contain a certain... energy."

Cordelia looked up from her grapefruit. "That's just the dust."

"Well, one way or another," Giles offered, brining a large platter of pancakes to the table. "Angel has chosen to make this place his center of operations, and I think it was a wise choice, whatever his motivation. It might  
come in handy in the near future."

"You know, speaking of Dead Boy -- where are they? And for that matter, where's the other gruesome twosome? What, is it "Vampires and Slayers Get to Sleep Late Day"?" Xander groused.

"Well, they are creatures of the night," Tara offered helpfully as she filled her plate.

"Buffy and Faith are so not creatures of the night," Cordy argued.

"Actually, they are, for all intents and purposes," Wesley explained, "Their Calling leaves them rather closely attuned to the creatures that they hunt. Not to mention their... intimate relationships with our two vampire  
friends."

"Mm. Now there's a visual I needed to start off the day," Xander grumbled.

"The four of them have had a difficult time, of late," Giles added, casting a glance toward the stairwell, "They deserve some repose."

Just as he finished his compassionate statement, the secondary Slayer and Angel's Childe appeared in the huge kitchen, laughing and chatting with their arms wrapped around one another. They separated after a long, gooey kiss, with obvious tongue, eliciting various grimaces of distaste from the assembly.

"Mornin', all," Spike fairly chirped as he marched into the walk-in fridge and helped himself to a pint of Angel's Finest Cold and Dead, vamping out and sinking his fangs into the plastic without preamble.

More wincing from the gang.

"Good... morning..." Willow offered weakly, staring as Faith plopped down on one of the barstools without a word, smiling brightly, heaped several helpings of food onto her plate, and dug in as though she hadn't eaten in weeks.

"You two look..." Wesley gulped, "Rested."

Spike downed another pint, and flashed Faith a bloody grin above his meal. She didn't stop shoveling eggs into her face as she returned it.

"Yeah. Rested," she said devilishly.

"If these two are this happy, I don't even want to see Buffy and Angel," Cordy mumbled.

* * *

"Voi che sono la donna attraente in tutte le dimensioni... bivostra pelle, come dell'sono aumentato in fioritura... I vostri bracci come I rami fort d'un salice e dei seni gradiscono..."

'You are the most enticing woman in all the dimensions... your skin, like finesilk. Your lips like rose petals, your arms like the branches of a willow...your breasts like..'.

"Mmmmm..." Buffy interrupted, smoothing her hands down the rolling muscles of his bare back. "I like the Italian... but do the Spanish again."

Angel pulled away from laving at her flat belly and grinned at her. "I already did the Spanish. Twice. How about Russian, instead?"

She giggled. "Russian it is."

"I saw a vision yesternight,   
Enough to sate a Seeker's sight;  
I wished myself a shaker there,  
And her quick pants my trembling sphere.  
It was a she so glittering bright,  
You'd think her soul an Adamite;  
A person of so rare a frame,  
Her body might be lined with' same.  
Beauty's chiefest maid of honour,  
You may break Lent with looking on her.  
Not the fair Abbess of the skies,  
With all her nunnery of eyes,  
Can show me such a glorious prize!"

"Ooooh..." Buffy sighed, shivering as his cool lips wandered over the hot skin of her hipbones, over the tops of her legs, then softly brushed her inner thighs with his tongue. "Russian is good... oh... too."

"I'm so glad you appreciate my multi-lingual abilities," Angel rumbled, licking a teasing line over the apex of her body. "Would you like Japanese?"

"W-whatever," she gasped.

Angel smiled to himself and continued to recite the poem's next stanza in Japanese, accenting each line with a feather soft, brief kiss, lick, or nibble of her vagina's outer gate.

'My sight took pay, but thank my charms  
I now impale her in my arms;  
Love's compasses confining you,  
Good angels, to a circle, too.  
Is not the Universe straight-laced  
When I can clasp it at the waist?  
My amorous folds about thee hurled,  
With Drake I girdle in the world;  
I hoop the firmament, and make  
This, my embrace, the zodiac.  
How would thy center take my sense  
When admiration doth commence  
At the extreme circumference?'

The Slayer whimpered softly, arching her hips toward his mouth in a vain attempt to urge it between the throbbing lips he so fervently and gently tended.

He chuckled, pulling his face away only enough to resist her attempts at force, and switched to French.

"Maintenant au baiser de fonte ce sips  
le philtre gelé de ses lèvres;   
Si doux il n'y a aucun praise't   
de bidon de langue jusqu'   
au transubstantiate avec un goût.   
Inspiré comme Mahomet de ci-dessus   
par la facturation de ma colombe merveilleuse,   
l'amour imprime ses signets dans ses smacks,   
ces baisses vermeilles de serrer la cire,   
que le wheresoever elle donne,  
elles sont joint privy pour prendre des coeurs.   
Nos bouches rencontrant au sport,   
ma âme glissante avaient quitté le fort,   
mais cela a-t-elle arrêté le sally-port.?"

 

("Now to the melting kiss that sips  
The jellied philtre of her lips;  
So sweet there is no tongue can praise't  
Till transubstantiate with a taste.  
Inspired like Mahomet from above  
By the billing of my heavenly dove,  
Love prints his signets in her smacks,  
Those ruddy drops of squeezing wax,  
Which wheresoever she imparts,  
They're privy seal to take up hearts.  
Our mouths encountering at the sport,  
My slippery soul had quit the fort,  
But that she stopped the sally-port.")

As he spoke the lines, he eased his mouth millimeter by millimeter into her heated folds, the scent of her growing arousal tearing at his concentration as he drew closer to her center with his tongue and lips.

His own passion grew, the burning ambrosia of her musk nearly searing his tongue as he caressed around the soft curve of her opening, but he struggled on, switching to his mother tongue -- the words of which still came automatically to him in times of stress... or consuming love and lust. Times when he didn't want to -- or couldn't -- think.

"Next to these sweets, her lips dispense  
As twin conserves of eloquence  
The sweet perfume her breath affords,  
Incorporating with their words.  
No rosary this vot'ress needs --  
Her very syllables are beads;  
No sooner twixt those rubies born,  
But jewels are in earrings worm.  
With what delight her speech doth enter;  
It is a kiss of the second venter.  
And I dissolve at what I hear,   
As if another Rosamond were  
Couched in the labyrinth of my ear.  
Yet that's but a preludious bliss,  
Two souls pickeering in a kiss.  
Embraces do but draw the line,  
'Tis storming that must take her in.  
When bodies join and victory hovers  
'Twixt the equal fluttering lovers,  
This is the game; make stakes, my dear!  
Hark, how the sprightly chanticleer  
That Baron Tell-cock of the night  
Sounds boutesel to Cupid's knight.  
The have at all, the pass is got,  
For coming off, oh, name it not!  
Who would not die upon the spot?"

 

Angel finished his recitation by tightening his lips firmly around Buffy's rock hard clit, and suckled it rapidly. The murmurs and moans that had served as background music to the poetry quickly grew to sharp cries as she tangled her fingers in his hair, urging him closer.

Buffy rocked her crotch up into him, matching his perfectly heavenly rhythm. He paced the rapidly rising crescendos of her pending orgasm, like the virtuoso of her body that he was, bringing her ever higher with every stroke, and even higher than that when he eased three long fingers into her entrance. Her body shuddered, her tension rising, and any moment, she was certain she was going to spontaneously combust beneath him. He never let her slip over the edge, changing the tempo to an easier, slower one, bringing her back from the abyss, before increasing it again, shooting her right back to the precipice once more.

She was sobbing with the ecstatic frustration of this dance, his lips pulling, his tongue flicking, his fingers sliding... She found herself begging... threatening... crying out his name in supplication for the release he continued to deny her.

Exquisite torture, of which Angel was the Master.

When she didn't think she could take it any longer, when her heartbeat and breath were so rapid, she saw stars, his mouth was suddenly gone from her clit, the fingers that had been inside her taking their place, rapidly dancing over her raw nerves. His tongue traced the sensitive skin of her inner thigh for a moment, and a sharp scrape of fang followed.

Buffy forced her eyes open and looked down, finding amber, lust-filled demon ones gazing back at her, his tender, cool tongue taunting the throbbing artery beneath it as agonizingly as the fingers on her screaming nub.

"Yes..." she hissed at him, "Yes... drink me... please... yes..."

A hint of a smile crossed her demon lover's lips as they opened, sharp feeding teeth gleaming in the soft firelight. She stopped breathing, holding absolutely still as she focused all of her concentration on Angel's mouth as it closed over her thigh, his yellow eyes never leaving her face.

When his stiletto sharp eyeteeth pierced her skin, she cried out. When they sliced through to the artery, and she felt the searing, throbbing pull of her lover draining her blood, she threw her head back and howled at the top of her  
lungs, and suddenly she was flying, falling, exploding into raging bliss. The orgasm lifted her hips, and him, clear off the bed, and Angel fed with greedy sucking, grunting sounds from her thigh, plunging his fingers back into her  
vagina, riding her climax with quivering strokes until she collapsed, begging him to stop.

He licked the tiny wound clean, and then raised his now-human face to look at her.

"Oh. My. God," Buffy panted.

Angel grinned. "So you liked the poem, then?"

She gave a breathless laugh, and pulled him up so they were face to face. She kissed him deeply, and found the bittersweet musk of her honey mixed with the copper tang of her blood in his mouth a heady sensation.

He pulled away once more and gazed gently down at her, brushing her cheek with his fingertips.

"Good, huh?"

Buffy wrinkled up her nose and giggled shyly. The innocence of it sparked something deep and protective in him... but something arousing in equal measure, as well. He rubbed his raging hard-on against the soaking juncture of her thighs as he slid his mouth to hers.

Angel wasn't surprised at her soft moan and gentle arch of hips in response. He'd always been a big fan of Slayer stamina. At least... this Slayer's. He glided easily into her slickness, groaning deeply to feel her strong inner  
muscles still fluttering with the after-effects of her orgasm. Whenever they were skin to skin now, the link automatically opened, as if activated by their physical union. And always, as he moved slowly in and out of her, he felt a rush of emotions blending, heard a whispered cacophony of thoughts, sensations and memories that crashed together into a senseless, indiscernible, captivating hum, as deep and loud as the thrumming of her blood... the drumming of her heart.

Buffy clasped him fiercely with arms and legs, meeting his driving thrusts with surges of her own hips, plunging him deeper, impossibly deep inside of her, until she could feel the head of his hardness pounding against the mouth of her womb. Still dizzy from the last climax and his feeding, the power of his love and lust for her rushing into her soul through the link, it was only moments before her vision imploded into light, and she ripped her nails down his smooth back, drawing blood as she bellowed her pleasure.

Her call washed away what threads of control still remained in him, and Angel joined her a moment later, driving himself still deeper, wanting to lodge himself forever in her warmth, in this moment, in the perfection and completion of being one with her, and he roared to her in return.

He realized with a start that he'd lost consciousness for a moment when her soft, warm lips on his brow brought him back.

"I think I smell sausage," she whispered.

Angel opened his eyes, and found hers not an inch away on the pillow. He smiled. "Is that a hint?"

She returned his smile... the sight of it, and the accompanying wash of joy through their bond, was almost enough to bring him to tears.

Loving this woman was going to turn him into a weeping idiot. Honestly... he didn't care.

"No hint. Tell. I'm hungry," she confirmed. "But... there's something I'd really like to do, first."

He chuckled at the naughty vision she passed to him. His mouth and eyes widened in feigned shock. "Why Miss Summers! What an insatiable wanton you are!" Belying his words, he reached over her and began rustling around in the nightstand drawer.

"Buffy?"

"Hm?"

"Where the Hell are the handcuffs?"

* * *

The entire family gathered in the lobby, sitting on the couches and floor, while Wesley and Giles lectured, making notes on the large wipe-off board they'd erected in the front of the room.

Angel thought it resembled a rather motley sort of classroom, populated by the strangest group of students he ever could have imagined: Witches, vampires, Slayers, half-demons, former demons, a geek and a former cheerleader.

Interesting.

"All right," Wesley began. Angel could almost feel the collective yawn from the gang. "Let us recap what we've discovered thus far, shall we? We are fairly certain from all our sources that the Final Wars are indeed about to  
begin, and the Council of Sha'an Tal will be convening momentarily in the nether-realms. Myself and Giles have been in contact with our former employers regarding the identity of the human representatives for this gathering, and we hope that at least one of the Council will be among their numbers. We also know that the coming of this war is heralded by a rather large aggregation of vampires which Angel believes are Sanguinati... that is, not the usual rogue sort of demons we are accustomed to dealing with, but elder, more organized ones. These gatherings are very rare, especially on American shores, and usually a portent of great change in the demon realms. What is still unclear is the nature of their leadership."

Giles nodded, stepping forward. "The Oracles were rather vague in this matter, indicating to Faith and Spike that Angel would and would not lead this Court, as Master of this area. Now... Buffy, Angel, and Emma have confirmed that the soul bond is intact, and, of course, he has no designs to be Master, so we are uncertain whether the dreams he, Buffy, and Faith have been sharing are..."

"And me," Spike cut in.

All eyes turned to the blond vampire.

He gave them a shrug. "I had it too. Same dream. Darla, two kids, a stadium full of pretty pissed off vamps, and Buffy all trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey..."

"Thank you, Spike," Wesley interrupted shortly, "What Mr. Giles was saying was... we don't know for certain whether the dreams are prophetic, or symbolic. They are certainly significant, as well as disturbing, due to their very nature. The fact that both Slayers, Angel, and... Spike, it would appear, are having them indicates that they are in some way tied to the events that are set in motion by the Sanguinati. Mr. Giles and I are supposing that they are symbolic -- that perhaps this new Master is of Angel and Spike's bloodline, and the Slayers will be expected to thwart whatever this Master’s plans might be."

"We will all need to keep a much closer eye on vampire activity in both our areas, as another uncertainty is where this convention will take place," Giles supplemented, "Buffy will remain here with Angel for the time being..."

"Oh, damn. So much for school," Buffy muttered in mock-disappointment.

Angel gave her a reproachful scowl. 'Not on your life, Summers. You're *going* to school, if I have to burst into flames dragging you there myself.'

'Gee... thanks, honey. Your support is just... heartwarming.'

He winked. The others were still getting used to this almost constant wordless communication between the two, and their current way of dealing with it was to pretend it wasn't happening. They wigged silently.

"Faith and Spike will keep watch over the Hellmouth, once they return from here. Any unusual conduct or happenings should be reported to myself or Wesley as soon as possible."

"If we can prevent this Master's rising, all the better," Wesley concluded, "But if we cannot, we must be prepared to immediately do battle with him."

"We might want to attempt to play politics with them," Angel offered bleakly, "It's impossible to tell how many there might be in my Line, but... it might be possible to use those ties to our advantage."

Spike snorted. "Yeah, if they don't just stake us first."

Angel shot his First-Made a hard glare.

"We believe, however," Giles went on, pacing before the board, "That our primary focus should be on the matter of this Great Army, The Gate, The Key, and the Host that it is supposed to release. Since this story is a common thread through all of the prophecies we've uncovered, we must assume that these, ultimately, will determine the victors in the coming war. The rest of us will be researching full time from now on to discover the nature of the  
Gate and Key, so we might be certain we are the ones who activate it."

"The Council will be sending a representative to assist us within the next few weeks -- an expert on the Gate prophecies, from London. With the translations we've gained of the Lunatcian, the Da'anaak, and the Gaelic, there  
are only a few remaining. Once we have those passages, I'm hoping for a clearer picture."

"If this Gate is so important, why don't the Powers just... send Doyle a vision or something?" Cordelia asked.

"We don't know that they haven't, actually..." Giles replied, "They have a reputation for being rather cryptic, after all. We may be surrounded by signs, and simply unable to recognize them. Perhaps as the time of the Final Battles draw near, things will be more self-evident."

"So basically what you're saying we should do is hurry up and wait," Xander commented.

Giles and Wesley flinched and grimaced noticeably.

"Er... yes, rather," the elder Watcher mumbled, resisting the strong urge to throw something heavy at the young man.

"Business as usual," Faith piped in, "Keep your eyes open and your exits clear."

Buffy sighed and leaned wearily against Angel, who wrapped his arm around her and gave her a squeeze and a warm smile.

'Don't worry, Ionuin... We can handle this. It's our Destiny.'

She returned his smile, and meant it. 'Do I look worried?'

The vampire kissed her forehead. 'Nah. Not at all.'

The ex-Watchers went on for a while, charting out the information their various members had gathered, illustrating especially where the prophecies of the various cultures crossed and interacted.

Most of the crowd just stared in bored silence. Giles and Wesley plunged on, trying to emphasize the importance of the information, but when Spike began to snore, they finally gave up.

The Sunnydale group, minus Faith and Spike, said their good-byes and left, leaving the Los Angeles crew relaxing in the lobby, relishing the relative quiet.

"Sooo... how long do you two plan on staying?" Cordy asked, eyeing Faith and Spike.

The blond vampire shrugged. "Dunno. 'Til we get bored, I guess."

"Should take about five minutes," Doyle muttered.

Angel chuckled. "Of course, you're both welcome, but... you probably shouldn't stay away from Sunnydale for long. Remember what Giles said. And Spike, I want you to find out what's going on with the Order."

Spike rolled his eyes, but didn't respond.

"Order?" Buffy queried.

"Order of Aurelius. My esteemed Sire's bloodline," the younger vampire replied snidely.

"And yours, William," said Sire shot back.

"Yeah. Because we're such respected members of it, I'm sure I can just stroll right in and ask around after their business."

Angel leaned toward him. "Our name still carries weight, with the Council. Your line means a lot more than your behavior."

Buffy cut in. "Excuse me, but... I think I'm on the confused end of the panel, here. Why haven't we ever heard of this before -- your family or the Council? I mean, vampires never struck me as the sort of monsters to get into  
democracy."

The darker vampire shrugged. "They've never had much of a foothold in the States. Demons who live here don't take to being "ruled" any better than the people do."

"Why don't you tell them why you, the Great Angelus of the Legendary Nest Line, aren't Council," Spike mocked.

Angel glared at him. It was becoming a more and more common occurrence

"When Darla left the Master to..." his gaze flicked to Buffy, "Travel with me, she essentially made everyone in our Line rogue. No one after me has stood in Court, that I'm aware of."

Buffy crooked an eyebrow at him. 'Stood in Court? Angelus never struck me as the Law &amp; Order type.'

He didn't look at her. 'I said I stood. I didn't say it was for more than 5 minutes. The Master kicked my ass.'

The blonde Slayer laughed.

"Would you two speak aloud, please?" Wesley complained from his place in the office.

"Sorry," Buffy and Angel apologized simultaneously.

Spike stared at them. "Is pretty creepy, you know."

"So why are they coming now? These Sangui-Whatevers?" Faith interrupted, "End Days thing?"

"Maybe," Angel responded, "Or maybe they're sick of wild demons making a mess of things on this continent. They're heavily into their particular brand of Order. Tradition and rules are central. They want their World  
Domination to work a certain way, and they don't really like an entire nation of rogues just doing whatever they want. Taking over California would only be the first step."

Buffy chewed her lip. "Why here, though? I mean...there are other Hellmouths, right?"

"Yeah, but none quite as nice as ours," Spike chimed in, "And the fact that there's no standing Master over this whole state makes us a prime target."

"When there's a Master vampire keeping the fledglings in line, the Council usually stays clear. It's only when things are... off balance, in their estimation, that they step in," Angel elaborated.

"Probably too many good guy vamps for their taste," Faith joked.

Spike shot her a withering look.

"Or... maybe..." Buffy rose from her seat and began to pace the room, "Maybe they're not cool with two elder vampires palling around with the Slayers. Hence, the dreams."

The others stared at her. Angel's eyes went wide.

"It definitely breaks some laws," he confirmed, "A lot of them, actually."

"And I bet there's a price on your head, Peaches, seeing as how you dusted your Sire and all. And she was Council... before you came along," Spike added with a smirk.

Buffy stopped and gave Angel a worried look. "So this might not have anything to do with Armageddon. They could be coming right for us."

Angel met her gaze. "Or, more specifically, me." His glance ticked to Spike, "And all my issue."

Cordy popped up from behind the front desk, where she had been setting up the computer since the Sunnydale gang left.

"Oh, that's just great. Angel, if we start getting attacked by vamps on a regular basis, I so quit. I'd rather wait tables."

"Me too," Faith agreed with a sigh.

"Wonderful. So why don't we just bugger all this 'saving the world' business, and open a restaurant, then?" Spike bitched.

"Sure. We can call it, 'Last Stop Before Hell'," Buffy proposed, retaking her seat and cuddling up to Angel, "Slayer-sized servings and fresh blood served nightly."

Nobody laughed.

Spike abruptly jumped from his seat. "Well, no use sitting around here complaining. Who's for clubbing?"

"ME!" Faith and Cordy rejoined.

Buffy shrugged. "Why not? I mean... I assume the end of the world won't be tonight, right?" She turned to her lover, and grinned at the look of pure distaste on his face. "If you're going to be Master, I think you should probably learn how to dance."

Angel's glower grew. "I'm pretty sure I'd rather go back to Hell."

THE END. :)


End file.
